Glimpses
by Katchan00
Summary: Brief looks into everyday life after Drosselmeyer's story has ended, focusing mainly on Fakir and Ahiru, but includes others as well. A telling of their new story together using small pieces.
1. The End is a New Beginning

_Princess Tutu_ © Itou Ikuko and Hal Film Maker, I'm just borrowing the characters for the enjoyment of myself and others.

This project is intended to be a chain of sort, one-shot glimpses into life in Kinkan/Gold Crown/Goldkrone following the end of the series, focusing mainly on Fakir and Ahiru.

There will be some chapters thrown in that focus on other characters, but the overarching focus is on the pair of them.

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><p>The End is a New Beginning<p>

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><p>Fakir stared dumbly at the ever-growing inkblot forming below his unmoving hand, his mind completely blank. It was apparently one thing to say he was going to finish Drosselmeyer's tale and fully free the town of the story, and a completely different one to actually try to sit down and write it. He had completely lost track of how long he had been sitting there, frozen in place, before grimacing and giving up for the moment. Finally letting the duck-feather quill fall from his cramped fingers onto the ruined yet mostly bare page, he leaned his head side to side, feeling his neck pop stiffly with the motions.<p>

This was the fifth day in a row he had holed himself up in his bedroom in the early morning, trying in vain to write a story that stubbornly refused to touch his mind. In five days he had managed to add only a handful of sentences. The child's flood of ideas had clearly dried up in a drought upon reaching adolescence.

He had been so determined to at least write something! He had no classes at the academy today, and even as a duck, Ahiru tended to sleep late and would not wish to leave her small basket nest until much later in the morning. The perfect opportunity for silence and solitude, and he'd wasted it staring at drips of ink for what felt like hours. He sighed, slouching in his chair and shooting a glare at his innocuous quill as if it were the instrument's fault for his inability to put words to paper. Knowing that his ire was not actually felt by the jaunty feather or the attached nib, he glared at the stack of paper too for good measure. Figuring that the third time was a charm, he narrowed his eyes at his inkwell and sneered at it as well.

It might not have actually done a damn thing, but it sure made him feel better, if only a little.

He rubbed idly at his right palm, the callouses on his thumb catching on the linen bandages wrapped around his hand. He knew that the healing wound wasn't helping matters much. His self-inflicted injury ached each time he lifted his quill to write, whether it was the pain of the gripping motion itself or a lingering regret at being unable to do more than barely support Ahiru in her time of need, he did not know.

He cast a glance over to the small duck slumbering peacefully on the far edge of his desk, his features softening as he watched her chest rise and fall. His heart ached when he thought about all she had lost, this fragile creature that he loved despite all his efforts to the contrary. There was just something about her that drew him in, and he meant his promise to stay with her from the bottom of his heart. For as long as she would have him, he was hers.

She certainly didn't seem to be unhappy, despite once again being small, downy, and well, a duck. She was still recovering from the exhaustion of her brave efforts to aid Myth- _Siegfried_ he corrected himself, sleeping long hours and being carefully fed and cared for by Charon and himself. Naps were frequent for her, and they spent their afternoons after he returned from his classes just relaxing in the sun at the nearby pond that she seemed content to claim as theirs. For now, she was still too tired to do more than gaze at the clear surface from his arms, but he knew that in time, she would happily swim around in the cool waters.

If she was happy, he would endeavor not to miss the fiery redhead that had dared to fight with him, had battled for his friend with all her being, had breathed life and love into his own frozen heart. There had been brief moments there at the end, especially as he held her petite form close while they danced together, deep below the Lake of Despair… moments and memories that made his heart sing with hope that she might feel even a glimmer of what had grown within him for her. There had been times where the look in her eyes had seemed to shine just for him, not for the failed knight, not for the friend of the prince, not for the story spinner that could potentially set things right, but for Fakir, the quiet, often withdrawn young man that found himself drowning in those bright blue depths.

The image in his mind of those looks made is easier to hold her close and swear to himself that he would protect and love her always, even as a tiny duck that could neither speak to him, nor dance with him or hold him like she had after rescuing her from Drosselmeyer's clutches. For now, she would stay in their small house until she was well. If she wanted to return to whatever pond or lake had been her home, then he would find a way to see her every day.

Reaching out with his injured hand, he stroked his finger gently down her head, a small but fond smile gracing his lips for just the barest of moments.

He chuckled under his breath as he stood from his desk and began to make his way downstairs, thinking about how well his adoptive father had adjusted to the knowledge that the small duck Fakir returned home with was the petite girl with copper hair he had met when Raetsel visited before her wedding.

That was the lone thing he had actually managed to insert successfully into that thrice-damned story… that those touched by Princess Tu- _Ahiru's!_ love and hope would remember her in some small way. It seemed for now, at least, he could still only write about her rather than control the story in any other meaningful amounts. Those few lines had come easily, naturally, flowing like water from his hands the moment he tried to put quill to paper when he first attempted to add to Drosselmeyer's writing. He knew it manifested differently from person to person from those he had spoken with; apparently the more closely one had been involved with the story, and with Ahiru, the deeper the mark she had left upon their heart.

Autor, the smug bastard, reveled in the fact that he remembered and knew that Princess Tutu and spritely Ahiru were one and the same, and that she had helped break the spell over the town, but Fakir had the last laugh; if the bespectacled boy had ever discovered she was a duck from reading the tale, he had now forgotten that detail and assumed Tutu had vanished completely. Her two strange friends seemed to remember her as a classmate from long ago that had left for a reason they couldn't recall, a vision of a past far more removed than mere days.

Charon on the other hand, had forgotten entirely about Princess Tutu and his encounter with her, but on the evening following that terrible night and the morning of sunlight, revelations, and goodbyes, he surprised Fakir. Out of nowhere, Charon asked if Fakir would ever bring his cheerful friend home with him again, and was able to vividly describe her when Fakir had attempted to feign ignorance. Exhausted, sore, and strangely relieved at Charon's memory, Fakir had broken down into bitter tears as he told Charon everything, gesturing to the small downy form sleeping silently on the kitchen table where he had left her. Through the long explanation, Charon held him close, his hands rubbing soothing strokes down his back and across his hair as though he was a small boy once more. Discovering from reading Drosselmeyer's haughty scrawl that a piece of heart had latched to his father figure had come as a shock to Fakir, but that was nowhere near the surprise he felt when Charon wholeheartedly believed him and his tale, gently scooping the sleeping duck into his arms and offering to find a suitable place for her to rest and recover. He had pointed commandingly to the stew simmering on the stovetop and ordered Fakir to eat while he made arrangements for their tiny new housemate. The basket he had returned with, swaddled with clean towels, had been nothing short of perfect.

Feeling his stomach rumble as he thought about Charon's delicious stews, Fakir stepped into the cheery kitchen and was surprised to see his father standing before the stove, meticulously stirring a pot of what smelled like oatmeal. Before he could even open his mouth for a greeting, a warm look was sent his way as Charon peeked over his shoulder at him and smiled.

"Good morning!" he called out, motioning towards the cupboard with his free hand. "It was so chilly this morning when I first woke up, I thought something hot for breakfast would be nice. It's nearly finished, if you could get out some dishes for us."

Fakir nodded, mumbling a quiet "good morning," back as he trudged over to the cabinet, the thumb of his left hand still rubbing at the palm of his right. It seemed to be bothering him more than usual today, he noticed with a frown. Mechanically, Fakir grabbed bowls and mugs as he noticed the scent of hot coffee mingling in the air. He set aside a smaller third bowl for Ahiru as he set the table, knowing she would probably be ravenous when she finally woke up. Cold or not, Charon's oatmeal would be perfect for her, nice and soft. He tried to make a mental note to add cinnamon and sugar, figuring that suited her better. He wondered how long she would sleep today…

Feeling his mind start to wander, Fakir sat down at the table in a daze, staring unseeingly at the empty bowl before him. His thoughts drifted to Ahiru, and the memories of holding her tiny feathered body close after finding her in the streets of town following their triumph over the Raven. She had looked so weak, so delicate…

It could have been minutes or hours before he was disturbed by Charon's hand falling upon his shoulder when he came over bearing the delicious smelling meal. Fakir jumped in response, his spine jerking straight with the motion.

"Are you feeling alright?" Charon asked, a serious look upon his face. His eyes searched Fakir's face for some clue, but found him closed off as usual.

Fakir avoided his gaze at first, and then sighed, begrudgingly knowing he was going to eventually admit his problems whether he wanted to or not. He mentally blamed Ahiru. All her open honesty had started to get to him. "Not really," he admitted reluctantly. He knew he was acting childish, but couldn't help pouting and playing with his spoon in his freshly-filled bowl, despite his hunger.

He could feel a heavy stare leveled upon him. He glanced up and saw Charon looking at him expectantly. Fakir fidgeted in his seat. That look made him feel seven, not seventeen.

"Well? Did you want to talk about it?" Charon was a vision of calm curiosity. He managed to remain fully focused on Fakir while eating, his eyes never leaving his perturbed ward. Fakir wondered idly in the back of his mind how he did that.

Fakir's eyes flicked up to Charon, back to the oatmeal, Charon, oatmeal, Charon, before settling on the direction of his bedroom where Ahiru slumbered peacefully. "Not really," he mumbled again, leaning his head down to the table to try to hide the flush of shame rising on his face. Rolling his head to the side so his cheek rested against the smooth wood, he sighed again, really starting to hate hearing that sound coming from his own mouth. Even hiding his face from him, he could still feel Charon watching him. Parents can be very unnerving, he decided. Resigning himself at last, he admitted, "I can't seem to do anything."

"From everything I've heard and seen over the past few days, it sounds to me like you've already managed to do an awful lot." Charon's words seemed to lift his spirits a little, and a small smile flitted across Fakir's face. "If it's that story you're fretting about, give it time. I know raising your pen once more must have you feeling a little trepidation after…. after the past." He smiled his warm, paternal smile again at Fakir, despite the fact that the boy was pointing the top of his head at him. He reached out to pat his hand. "If you're worried about Ahiru… I don't know too much about ducks, or really any birds beyond the basics, I'll admit, but she's livelier and healthier looking every day. You both just need to rest. I still think you should have taken some time off before returning to the academy; I could have written to them that you were ill and needed to recover." Concern had knitted his brows together just slightly as he spoke.

"I'm fine. I've been taking it easy during practices, mostly just sticking to basics. We have a lot of unmanaged time in the advanced classes." He raised his bandaged hand from the table and waved it feebly, "This is the only thing that's really bothering me." Fakir finally lifted his head from his moping position on the table and ate, appreciating just what a good cook Charon was, especially for an unmarried man. "As for the other things…" he almost trailed off entirely, but his eyes ghosted towards the stairs once more before settling back on Charon, "I'm just frustrated. I can't seem to find the words for, well, anything. I promised I would fix everything left in Drosselmeyer's story, and I can't. I have spent hours every morning starting at blank pages without writing a single line for four days now."

Charon watched him for a few moments, deep in thought, before speaking. "What still needs to be fixed, exactly?" he asked finally. "I might be missing something, since I was just a bit part," he chuckled, "but everything feels…. Right? Normal."

Fakir frowned. He hated to admit it, even to just himself in his head, but he hadn't thought of that. It's possible Ahiru and My-_Siegfried - really, was that so hard to remember? _Perhaps Ahiru and Siegfried had managed to completely end the story, breaking the spell that had encompassed Goldkrone entirely. He hadn't noticed a single walking, talking animal, and he and Ahiru had gone to check all five city gates in person before returning to Fakir's home, finding all of them open and watching people walk out of and into each in turn before being satisfied. Realizing he was staring into space, Fakir looked back at Charon, merely saying "hn," with a grunt of acknowledgement.

If the story really was complete… who was he to meddle?

And yet… he knew, could feel it somewhere deep inside of him, that there was **something** that he should be writing, something that he **needed** to write. His eyes drifted once more towards the stairs, and realization slowly trickled into his mind. If she was all he could write about, then she was what it would be. He would write her story, her tale of bravery and struggles and love and...

Without a single word of explanation to Charon, he was gone from the table, small bowl of cooling oatmeal in hand. He climbed the stairs two at a time, entirely focused on the words flowing unbidden into his head. He might not have much power to control yet, but he could certainly record, and there was nothing more he wanted to remember and hold onto then his memories of Ahiru; of the kind-hearted duck whose love made her human and of her valiant efforts to be more than a few short lines in an old story.

Placing the bowl next to her basket so she could reach it once she awoke, he tossed away the ink splattered top page and within moments his hand darted across the fresh paper, his duck-feather quill dancing in the air with each flick of his wrist as the words poured out almost faster than he could think them.

This would be Ahiru's tale; the account of a loud and clumsy little duck who would become so much more.

It would be a story overflowing with hope.


	2. Stoic Mystery

_Princess Tutu_ © Itou Ikuko and Hal Film Maker, I'm just borrowing the characters for the enjoyment of myself and others.

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><p>Stoic Mystery<p>

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><p>Frau Katze frowned as she watched two of her advanced students perform their pas de deux for the class level evaluations. She had felt the arbitrarily small class size limit was ridiculous, and was slowly making her way through evaluations of all of the ballet students to determine their levels of proficiency. She strained to recall the girl's name, her short blonde pigtails sticking in her mind as the one she had mentally dubbed "Süß," but it eluded her for the moment. With as many new students as she had gained and been introduced to in the last two weeks since her arrival, it was to be expected.<p>

The boy, Fakir, she had no trouble recalling. She must have overheard nearly every girl in the ballet program whisper about him every instance she was in his presence, and she had watched one of his afternoon practice periods earlier in the week now that he seemed to be recovered from the fatigue that had beset him upon their first meeting.

However, the longer she watched the pair move across the floor, the deeper her brows furrowed. Süß was performing admirably, truly a testament to her skill and her previous teacher. She was easily the most emotional of the advanced group, and her technique was wonderful, if not as exceptional as some of the others. Her leaps were executed well, and her turns were sharp. Her movements seemed very much so based in her feelings rather than in time spent practicing; truly she gave a very lyrical performance. Katze was pleased to consider her one of her advanced students, and knew that with some more focus on her technique, she would go far.

No, the young girl was not the cause of her dire expression, of the deep furrow digging in between her eyebrows.

What bothered her was that young man.

He showed a mastery over his technique that few showed as such an age, and he handled the lifts flawlessly, but he was completely blank. It was almost like watching a puppet's performance, she mused, technically perfect and awe-inspiring but lacking any emotion whatsoever. He turned his partner in his arms, but it was all so mechanical, so unfeeling, that she almost shuddered. This was not the same boy she had watched dance a few days ago by himself, not by a long shot.

Alone with the phonograph lilting out Prokofiev's "The Last Farewell," the boy had been the embodiment of emotion, sorrow and pain that matched his music perfectly had seemed to radiate off of him in waves as he practiced a pas de deux by himself, lifting a nonexistent partner into the air and guiding his ghostly lady with tenderness. The motions then had the same precision as now, but they had been so much **more.** Ever so slowly, he had taken his vacant partner into his arms and spun her, holding close the phantom girl with gentleness that had brought tears to Katze's eyes. By the time he had slowly lowered his imagined Juliet to the ground, the young teacher had been certain that she had stumbled upon a young man who would be the perfect lead for any productions, able to express so much with his dancing.

The moment he had stopped moving, he reverted to the quiet, withdrawn student she saw during lectures, but for those long minutes, he had been a man deeply in love with the missing woman in his arms. From her vantage point on the balcony overlooking the practice studio, she had gaped in amazement at one so young feeling so much.

Where then, were those emotions now? How could he have been so expressive in solo practice, having no physical person to emote with, and be completely void of expression when his arms were around a living, breathing girl? More elegant steps and turns followed, the longing of the girl he spun seeming to wash off him like water from a duck's back, never penetrating.

Perhaps it was the partner? His usually dour countenance might well have previously clashed with her cheery attitude and happy smiles.

She hadn't been here long enough yet to fully grasp her students' relationships with one another, he could very well have iced over at the prospect of dancing with… with Süß.

_I really need to learn these girls' names._

It seemed unlikely that he could be on antagonistic terms with such a friendly girl though, the more she thought on it. While she was friendly, she was quiet and unobtrusive in her demeanor.

Applauding the finished pair and trying to wipe the grim look from her features, she dismissed Süß with a pleased smile and a "wonderful dancing." Fakir didn't seem to care. The girl beamed at her brightly in response, a soft blush coming to her cheeks from the praise from her new teacher. She sat down next to the inky-haired "Nacht," who squeezed her hands once before releasing them, a ghost of a smile flitting across her somber features.

"I'd like to see you perform again, Fakir, if that's alright," Katze admitted, stopping him as he turned to return to the group seated by the barre. Cool green eyes met hers for a moment and he nodded, standing still and patiently waiting for more instructions.

How could she pull forth from him a performance like that one she had silently borne witness to? What was the secret to unbottling his hidden emotions?

She almost motioned for the brunette technical genius whose attitude needed some adjusting who she identified as "Kälte," but decided to try and see what would happen if she paired her perplexing danseur with the open, expressive "Kakao." If one lyrical ballerina had elicited no response from him, she hoped that the other would. Beckoning over the mocha-skinned girl and nodding to the bespectacled pianist, she sat back in her chair and watched with interest as the young girl smiled shyly up at Fakir when he took her hand in his own.

_This might be the answer I was looking for,_ Katze thought to herself, pleased to potentially solve the mystery. It was obvious that the girl was delighted to have the opportunity to dance with Fakir.

However, within moments she knew that she was no closer to deciphering what was wrong with that boy. His partner clearly was trying with everything she had to evoke emotions from him, but he remained stony faced, his eyes revealing nothing. Again he danced with smooth perfection, again it was beautiful to watch, and again he made her feel nothing. Threading her fingers together, she rested her elbows on her knees and her face against her clasped hands, leaning forward in her chair in deep concentration as she watched.

It just didn't make sense!

If she judged purely from his demeanor outside of the studio, it would have come as no shock for him to be so stoic, but she had seen him come alive, had felt the pull of his dancing. Somewhere inside him, there were closely guarded emotions and feelings just dying to come out, but now he held them reined in closely, as though refusing to share them with the world.

She realized she was nearly glaring at the pair as they finished, catching the look of sorrow and fear that blanketed Kakao's face. It seemed that boy was a puzzle for another day.

Forcing herself to grin and unpucker her eyebrows, she clapped her hands. "You both have done a marvelous job!" Elation spread across the young girl's face at the words, and she nervously glanced over to the boy who was currently staring down their teacher. She ignored his scrutiny, deciding for now that she would not press into the matter. If he wanted to come to her to figure out how to bring forth those emotions into his dancing with a partner, she would do everything in her power to assist, but for now it seemed like his look had a clear "don't ask," message in it as he stared her down.

The evaluations continued, but she couldn't clear the image of the sorrowful boy and his ghostly companion from her head.


	3. Falling Apart

_Princess Tutu_ © Itou Ikuko and Hal Film Maker, I'm just borrowing the characters for the enjoyment of myself and others.

Sorry if characterizations are off at all, it's hard to keep Fakir normal while throwing him out of his comfort zone. I imagine Charon's a pretty happy-go-lucky guy most of the time, now that his son has stopping being such an angst machine and never coming home to see him.

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><p>Falling Apart<p>

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><p>Fakir was concerned. While Ahiru's attitude and personality seemed to have recovered completely from the battle with the Raven, she was starting to look, well, ragged. Her delicate feathers had clearly seen better days. Lately, he found many of them littering his blankets or her small basket when he awoke each morning. It was easy to tell where she had slept each day judging from the piles of feathers she seemed to be losing. He almost wanted to relegate her only to the basket Charon had carefully cleaned for her, but he secretly enjoyed the warmth of having her close when she opted to sleep on his bed with him. Small, fluffy feathers were an acceptable price to pay.<p>

She had become quite the fan of listening to him read, and he'd begun taking regular trips to the library to find literature that would appeal to her. He hoped to one day be able to read her story aloud to her, but for now it was something he kept private. He worked on it each afternoon as he watched her play in the water of their favourite pond, his fishing rod ignored until the small bell Charon had attached for him would ring with a tug on the line. His words about her seemed never ending; he was able to write and write from the moment he sat down until the sun started to set and they returned home for the evening, always greeted with a smile and a warm meal by Charon.

His evenings, just like his afternoons, were hers. He would sit comfortably on his bed and she would settle into his lap and listen to him as he read aloud. A few times she had accidentally fallen asleep before he was finished, and it was always a challenge to try and retrace back to where she last remembered the story the next night. He wished desperately that she could tell him in words what she liked or disliked, but she always seemed pleased with the stories he chose for her. There was a sweetness to the whole routine, of feeling her close and knowing that his voice soothed her so.

But for now, thoughts of his contentment and of her story were pushed from his mind as he stared hard at the feathers on his bed, willing them to stop falling from his companion.

What concerned Fakir most was her own lack of concern. After the fourth such morning of finding tiny duck feathers everywhere, he rubbed at her head until she awoke, looking up at him with bleary, confused eyes.

"Ahiru."

"Quaaaa~ck," she replied pitifully, trying to burrow into his warm arms so she could go back to sleep. She knew it was the weekend and Fakir didn't need to go to the academy today, so why was he up so early?

"Ahiru. Have you noticed that you're shedding feathers all over my bedroom?" he asked, his tone was serious and managed to completely cover his concern. A sleepy nod was her only answer for him. "Are you feeling sick at all?" he asked, lifting her in his hands to hold her level with his face. Her unfocused eyes tried to stare at him, but she closed them again and shook her head. He couldn't tell if she was sleepy and lazy or genuinely ill and trying not to worry him.

He really, really wished she could still talk sometimes.

"Do you know why you're losing all your feathers? Ahiru?" No reply. "Stop falling back asleep and listen to me, moron. This is important!" He shook her a little to jostle her awake once more, and she responded with more heart that he would have liked.

"Quack quack quack!" she yelled loudly, trying to nip at his nose. _I'm not a moron!_ He barely managed to pull her away from his face in time.

He could feel her indignant tone and he glared back, giving as good as he got from her. "I wouldn't have said it was important if I didn't think it was, you idiot!"

Her response to the word was immediate; she struggled out of his grasp, managing to bite at no less than three fingers as she made her escape. With a final, resounding quack in his face, she darted out the door and was gone, a tumble of downy feathers following in her wake. Shooting a nasty look at the door she had departed through, he sucked the most painfully throbbing finger into his mouth to ease it, and then realized in horror the implication of his mouth being where hers had been just moments before.

_She's a duck, duck, duck, you idiot!_

It was bad enough that he'd already had two separate dreams about her in the last few weeks that had bordered on… salacious. They had been filled with teasing thoughts of her in her human guise, sending him coy looks from behind her bangs and voicing his own messed up feelings of… of….

_Nnnnnggghhh. I can't even think about it in my own head._

…of desire.

Just thinking the word sparked a flame in his face, and he tried to banish the images of the unforgettable second dream from his mind. He never had pictured other girls doing… doing… doing **things** before! Why did it have to start now, with the girl he wanted to spend forever with, now that she was a duck‽

He huffed angrily and fell back onto the bed, covering his red face with his hands.

His imagination failed him every time he tried to put pen to paper for anything but her past, but the moment he falls asleep… it didn't have a single problem reconstructing his embarrassing memories of Ahiru's human form. Ugh. It just wasn't fair!

Turning his head to the side, he caught sight of her discarded feathers and recalled their argument. She had managed to completely derail his brain, unintentionally, and his memories had distracted him from his concern. Crawling out of his bed, he reached for his threadbare blue shirt and shrugged into it, ignoring the tightness in his shoulders. It was bad enough that Ahiru was falling apart at the seams and didn't care, he didn't have the energy today to think about the fact that he was steadily growing out of the shirt Raetsel had given him so long ago when she moved out of their home.

He stomped angrily down the stairs, determined to find Ahiru and get to the bottom of this. When he did finally find her, she was perched daintily upon the kitchen table, happily being fed bread by a smiling Charon. She glared at him as he approached, and he somehow knew she would be sticking her human tongue out at him if she could. Her head flipped back to Charon with a haughty toss and the man tried hard to hide the laughter than threatened to burst forth as he watched the scene unfold.

"Moron," Fakir muttered under his breath as he stepped over to the stove, grabbing the covered plate that Charon had clearly prepared for him. He shot her a look of malice and settled down on the opposite side of the table, as far from her as he could get.

Charon tried to play it off as if nothing was out of the ordinary, for truly, the pair of them snipping at one another was fairly common, despite their closeness. His fingers rubbed gently at the back of Ahiru's small neck, the same motions he had used many times on a young Fakir. "Is the newest loaf of spice bread good, Ahiru?" he asked, garnering him a cheery quack and a little bobble of her head as she expressed her delight. "We used a few different spices to try something new, Fakir actually came up with the mixture." Ahiru eyed the delicious bread, then turned to look at the sullen young man glaring away at his breakfast while he ate, then looked back at Charon.

_Really?_ She looked at him seriously, her face alight with curiosity. She hadn't known Fakir could cook at all!

She was mad at him for being so mean this morning, but… it was awfully delicious bread. Holding her head high, she walked the short distance across the table until she was standing right by his plate, then reached out a wing and rested the tip lightly against his head. He looked up at her, and she managed her closest approximation of a smile.

_I'm sorry!_ She attempted to apologize with a mournful quack.

He nodded and lifted the corner of one side of his lips, but stopped himself before the fond "moron" could slip out. He realized this would probably be a bad time to call her that, even with affection. "I'm sorry I yelled at you." She looked at him expectantly for a moment, and he added with a grumble, "and I'm sorry I shook you."

Utterly pleased, her countenance lit up and she hopped closer, waddling her way up to his shoulder and perching there. She found stability by leaning against his neck.

Fakir continued to eat with one hand, and the other reached up to idly stroke her wing. His remaining anger slowly melted away with each soft breath against his ear. "So, do you know **why** you're losing all your feathers? You certainly haven't seemed too terribly worried that you're dropping pieces everywhere."

Her expression clearly implied that she thought he was an idiot, and Charon failed to stop his laughter this time. Shooting a dirty look across the table, Fakir managed to silence him.

"I'd say she's losing her natal down," Charon offered helpfully, still full of mirth.

Fakir's brows furrowed together in confusion as he looked between the two. "What's that?"

Charon scratched the back of his neck, trying to think of a good explanation. "They're the soft feathers birds are born with; I think she's supposed to be losing them."

Fakir eyed her warily; she looked grossly unhealthy to him at the moment. She stared him down with that same condescending expression.

"It's just a part of growing up. Her full feathers will start to come in and she'll finish growing and reach maturity."

Suddenly catching on, Fakir chuckled at her and poked her once. "So, you're just a little baby girl duck, aren't you?" She swatted at him indignantly and he laughed again.

"She's probably closer to an adolescent, considering the timing." Lost in thought for a moment, Charon tapped his fork against his lips. "Didn't you say some months had passed since the story had first begun to move? That doesn't make sense if Ahiru is just now getting her adult feathers. Why, she should only be a few weeks old when that happens!"

Ahiru looked worried and gave a small woeful quack, her eyes full of confusion as she looked to Fakir for answers he didn't really have. "It could have been the story," he ventured a guess, "or maybe that you were human?" He pondered her for a moment, trying to force his mind to only recall images of her in clothes as a theory started to form in his head. "It's possible that Drosselmeyer turned you into a human that reflected your physical age, past infancy and 'childhood' but not yet to full maturity… and that as a human, you grew and aged like one?" A quack. "Time slowed… down…" the implication of his theory settled into his head, of her being chronologically so young, and Fakir was left wondering just how long Ahiru would live as a duck, if just a few weeks of life had turned her into what he'd thought was a thirteen year old girl.

Clearly, there were things that he needed to know. Thinking about Ahiru reaching adulthood in only a handful of weeks, he realized he needed to know those things as soon as possible.

Deep in thought, he carefully replaced Ahiru to the table and darted back up the stairs for some fresh clothes and his writing materials. He needed to get to the library and start researching ducks!


	4. Mortifying Research

_Princess Tutu_ © Itou Ikuko and Hal Film Maker, I'm just borrowing the characters for the enjoyment of myself and others.

**Huge** round of thanks for everyone that has reviewed or added this to their favourite or alerts! It makes me feel warm and fuzzy and I usually flail wave my hands around like an excited kid instead of a respectable, old 20-something.

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><p>Mortifying Research<p>

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><p>Fakir wasn't sure which would have been more embarrassing, reading up on human maturity and sexuality or reading the clinical analysis of the duck equivalents in the zoology books spread before him on his isolated table in the library. It was his third day in a row of trying to research ducks; his first had been a complete flop as he struggled to even find the proper books that would give him the information he needed. He knew he could have brought these back home with him instead of holing up here where Ahiru couldn't join him, but he was too uncomfortable. He had been blushing nonstop since the moment he started reading today.<p>

His cheeks brightened to a luminescent red as he read about drake behavior; a line about having too many drakes to hens in a group leading to over-mating and potentially starving the hens had him particularly horrified. Ahiru had so far not mingled with any of the other ducks that frequented their pond, but that didn't mean they hadn't looked upon her with curiosity, that strange intruder that appeared with the human boy each day.

What if… what if she wanted to be a normal duck? What if she wanted to mate and lay eggs and migrate and eat bugs and a whole host of other things that Fakir had never stopped to think about?

Charon's theory about her age and her feather loss seemed correct, which didn't surprise him since Ahiru had basically confirmed it herself. That meant it wouldn't be long before she started to grow her glossy, full adult feathers and she completely finished growing.

From there it would only be a matter of time until… until…

Fakir pounded his head on the desk and ignored Autor's complaint from the lower level.

_This is not happening to me._

It would only be a matter of time until she was ready to find a mate and begin laying eggs, which seemed to be an extremely large focus of a duck's life, from what he could tell. She… she would be courted by a drake and… and build a nest and mate and lay eggs and protect them and… and he would lose her.

His ears burned with shame as he felt his blush spread and realized he was jealous of a hypothetical duck that may or may not ever try to mate with her.

Why was this all so screwed up?

…and why could he not stop focusing on the concept of reproduction‽

If he thought the words 'mate' and 'eggs' one more time….

He made a fist and hit his own leg in frustration.

He tried to calm himself. He didn't even know if she **wanted** those things! On the other hand, she might not want them, but could be called to it by instinct anyway… How much of her human heart had been her own natural gift, and how much was caused by Drosselmeyer's meddling in his search for a tragedy? Would she become more duck-like with time and age? Was it fair for him to not want that? Did she want that?

So far, she had seemed extremely content with eating the food he and Charon prepared for her, whether it was breads, or fish, or thick beef broths filled with protein and vegetables, so he tried to take that as a good sign. The thought of her foraging for insects or eating pond grasses made him a little nauseous. Thinking hard, he realized that aside from swimming, she seemed incredibly un-duck like, ironically.

But even if she wanted to stay by his side forever, a reciprocation of his own words to her, and never felt the pull to truly be a duck, he still would lose her. It would take longer, but sure enough, she would be gone from his life far sooner than he cared to think about.

Discovering her short life expectancy had been like drenching himself in ice water, from the way it had sent a chill down his spine.

Assuming she was healthy and no accidents or predators got to her when he wasn't there to protect her, Fakir would still only have a few years with her in comparison to his own life.

It was a sobering realization, and it made his scar itch with an urge to lift his quill and fight her fate. Was it fair to try and protect her from her own natural mortality?

He groaned quietly and buried his face in his hands. Guys his age were supposed to shower attention on pretty girls and try to steal kisses, even if he'd never wanted to himself, and instead he was stuck debating the morality of altering the fate of the awkward duckling girl that he loved and couldn't forget if he tried.

Really, this was **beyond** screwed up.

Life would have been so much easier, trapped still within the stagnant story. If only she had never–

No. He wouldn't trade Rue and Siegfried's happiness, or any of his precious memories of Ahiru, for anything, even simplicity and not knowing the pain and fear that clenched his heart now. Falling in love with that clumsy, loud, freckled bundle of energy was the best thing that had ever happened to him.

Shaking the thoughts away, he looked down at his scrawled notes, things he'd jotted down to try and talk about with Charon, if not with Ahiru herself. The notion of trying to have a one-sided conversation with her about the things he'd discovered was daunting at best, and downright humiliating at worst.

This was way weirder than asking his father about sex would have **ever** been.


	5. Her Gift

_Princess Tutu_ © Itou Ikuko and Hal Film Maker, I'm just borrowing the characters for the enjoyment of myself and others.

Dedicated to Dreamicide, because when I explained this part to her when she was helping me beta a later portion, she loved it and called it 'diabetes-inducing.' Hopefully the chapter pleases you as much as the overview! ^_~

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><p>Her Gift<p>

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><p>To say that Ahiru was upset would be an understatement. She was furious with Fakir. He kept going to the library right after school and would stay there until late in the evenings, researching ducks like a man possessed. He was messing up everything by being gone all the time! He couldn't seem to understand that she was happy when she was with him, and that's all that mattered to her.<p>

Really.

It didn't mean anything that she would try to dance when he was gone at the academy all day, her small, flat feet fumbling awkwardly across the grass.

Honest!

She was content and happy and a whole bunch of other good words that she got to live with him and Charon and that they fed her and that she had her own little nest all to herself on the desk and sometimes Fakir would even let her stay on his bed when she fell asleep there on accident.

This was who she was! She was a duck.

She wasn't a girl, would never be a girl again, no matter how much she wanted to dance, to laugh, to cry, to be able to wrap her arms around Fakir like he did every time he picked her up.

She only missed her friends a little, and it wasn't so bad when Fakir was nearby. When he was with her, she could accept that she would always be a small duck; he still managed to make her feel safe and strong when he was close, even like this.

When Fakir held her close and she could hear the gentle beating of his heart, it didn't matter what the future held for her. That had been a little scary to realize the first time it drifted into her mind, but she'd found that it was true. Being with Fakir had become more important to her than she would have ever expected.

But now he was ignoring her for books and it was really starting to annoy her! He was always so distracted lately; he hadn't even noticed that she'd stolen his favourite ratty blue shirt. She'd filched it from the floor one evening and it was now carefully hidden in her basket, buried within the other fabric so that she could lay upon it in secret, surrounding herself in his scent when she couldn't feel his arms.

He'd probably yell at her when he found out, even though he'd been wearing it less and less these last few weeks. It was a shame, really, she admitted to herself privately. She'd always attributed it more to the real Fakir, with the stony façade he presented to the world being connected to his school uniform. Also… lately it was starting to look tighter across his chest, molding against him like a second skin in an alluring image that would have had her pink in the face if she were still a girl and able to blush. Was it normal to think about Fakir like that? She'd never thought about the Prince wearing clothes that were too snug, and she certainly hadn't thought it about Fakir until more recently, either!

She had tried not to think about the fact that Fakir was turning into a man, though it was starting to become more and more obvious. Someday he'd probably want a wife and a family and he wouldn't want anything to do with a little duck that could only listen to his stories and make a mess of his bedroom with molted feathers. He had become her world without her noticing it happen, and there wasn't anything she could do for him in return.

Wait… feathers! That was perfect!

She arched her head around, looking longingly at the few white feathers that were visible now along her lower back, her eyes locking on the biggest, the first. She'd been so proud when she first saw that long, elegant tail feather; it was… the most amazing feeling in the world. She looked over at Fakir's quill and made a decision, there was at least something she could do for him, something she could give him, which would show how much he meant to her.

Pulling your own feather out was harder than she expected it would be; it was difficult for her to get the right angle on it, and even harder to do without fingers. She had to be able to pin it between both wingtips without crushing it, and then still manage the leverage to get it moving. She wriggled and struggled and fought and **finally** was able to pluck out her feather, the pain of the act sending a jolt up her spine as it popped out from her skin. She looked at it longingly as she laid it carefully next to his pen; it really was a beautiful feather, pure white like the Prince's hair had been.

She couldn't have it attached to the body of a quill for him, he would have to do that part himself, but she would make sure he understood what it was for when she next saw him if he couldn't figure it out. And then…. And then, even if he forgot her someday, forgot his promise, she would still be able to be by his side, at least in part.

Maybe he'd even understand what she was trying to say with the gift, and he'd stop spending all his time away from her, worrying over what the future might bring for them. He'd go back to taking her to the pond, and reading her fanciful stories in the evenings after a happy dinner with Charon.

She could just imagine his face when he found it, that small secret smile that he saved just for her that would make his eyes light up, that private expression she wanted to keep all for herself. Fakir didn't smile very often, even for her, so each one was special.

Pleasant dreams fluttering through her mind, she settled into her basket and rubbed her face softly among her secret treasure as she went to sleep to await his return to her.

It was enough.

…at least for now.


	6. Competition

_Princess Tutu_ © Itou Ikuko and Hal Film Maker, I'm just borrowing the characters for the enjoyment of myself and others.

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><p>Competition<p>

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><p>Somehow it seemed fitting; to switch from the quill Autor had mockingly supplied him with to the snow-white feather from Ahiru as he reached this time in her story. The last thing he had penned was their trek down to the underground lake where Kraehe held the Prince, and his discovery that her pendant was responsible for both Tutu and her human body. It felt strangely appropriate to use the quill that had been in large part a gift from her, now that they had reached such a turning point in their relationship with one another within the tale.<p>

He tried not to think of it as overly symbolic, knowing Ahiru would likely get a kick out of laughing at him over it.

He had been touched when he first discovered the feather, carefully laid out upon his desk next to his discarded quill. He'd spent most of the evening that day at the library, avoiding Ahiru and his own stupid insecurities about her being a duck. By the time he'd finally returned that night, dinner had been cold for hours and she was already sleeping like the dead.

She'd been delighted with him the next morning though, when he'd checked with her first thing to confirm that it was for him. She nodded enthusiastically and her eyes had shone up at him with so much joy, he had even been able to overlook her thinning feathers for the moment, knowing that it was normal, and before he knew it, she would be fully feathered in pure white, matched to the beautiful gift she had given him.

He'd had the feather attached to a black lacquered body, designed to have replaceable metal nibs thanks to his tendency to snap them when he was frustrated. That way, the feather itself would remain intact. Waiting for the prescribed time had been torturous; he had wanted so badly to see the finished quill but was told every day when he stopped by that these things take time.

He had just picked up the completed quill today, excited beyond belief to show it to Ahiru upon returning home. She'd been exceptionally pleased, staring at the new pen for long moments while he divested himself of his school books and equipment. She'd seemed nervous when he picked it up to bring with them to the lake, but he'd assured her that he would take the very best care of it, always.

Content, she'd allowed him to bring the quill and her to the small lake where they spent their afternoons, and she'd seemed loath to release the gift from where she'd cradled it in her wings for their short journey. One stern "Ahiiiiru," later and she'd relented, handing off the quill with her beak and quacking imperiously at him before hopping out of his arms and flapping messily to slow her descent down to the water below. Her feathers had continued to grow in during the time they waited for the quill to be finished, and while she wasn't completely done with her transition, she was looking better every day.

This brought them to now, her idly swimming circles around the lake as he stared at his quill and thought more about her than her story for the moment.

The morning he'd found her feather, he decided to stop fretting so much about the prospects of her duck life, and she's greeted him with such enthusiasm when he returned from the academy that afternoon that he swore off his library trips altogether. He knew enough now to be prepared if she had any more mishaps with unexplained behavior and really, that was all the information he needed. There was no point obsessing over what may or may not happen; they'd cross those bridges if they came to them.

…That being said, he still warily eyed the other ducks in the pond when Ahiru wasn't looking instead of working on her story. He was reasonably sure he could tell drakes and hens apart now. He also noticed that absolutely none of the ducks he'd seen were purely white like Ahiru looked like she'd become, but he already knew she was far from normal. As usual, they all seemed intent on observing her from afar, not necessarily scared of the pair of them, but certainly not sure what to make of them.

He realized that not a single duck from their pond seemed to lack their adult feathers, but that made sense in a way. Ahiru's growth had clearly been slowed by her time as a human, so any ducks born the same time as her that spring would have long since passed her in maturing.

There actually seemed to be a few different kinds of ducks in the area, from what he could tell. He suspected there were similar breeds spread throughout the town and surrounding countryside, but the pair of them tended to just stick to their favourite pond, so he couldn't be completely sure.

If he hadn't been staring at them so intently, he probably would have never even noticed the exchange among the ducks that was now taking place before his eyes. A drake of some kind, a smaller one that was likely very young, began floating out further into the lake, his speed slow and his gaze flicking to Fakir a few times as he went. Fakir narrowed his eyes, watching the glossy green head as it extended slightly beyond his body, trying to inspect Ahiru from afar.

Before he realized what he was doing, Fakir's hands began to grip at the sides of his chair, and he wondered how far he could throw a balled up sheet of paper.

Clearly, thinking you were okay with something was very different from being faced with your potential competition, even if you had a good four and a half feet on them.

The irony that the top of his head was green was **not** lost on Fakir. His body was fairly dark for a mallard, and Fakir idly wondered if that's what he himself would look like as a duck. … certainly an odd, esoteric thing to notice. The thought did not sit well with him as his intrepid antagonist neared Ahiru.

She finally realized that she was under scrutiny, whether she could feel the tension radiating from the dock or could just feel the movement in the water behind her, and she turned around.

Fakir did not expect what he saw next, not in the least.

The brave drake found the daring to paddle right up to the messy white Ahiru, and before Fakir could even move a muscle she'd snubbed him with the closest she could manage of a sneer, paired with a distinctly curt quack. In an instant she was rising out of the water on sheer determination alone, her feathers barely full enough to support her weight. She quacked rudely at him again from her perch upon the dock and turned with a familiar huff that Fakir had been on the receiving end of more times than he'd like to admit.

Clearly inordinately pleased with herself, she marched toward him primly until she could lay down in the shade beneath his chair, then lowered herself to the dock without a sound.

Fakir relaxed his grip on the chair arms and slouched back into his seat, a wide smirk flitting across his lips as he lifted his quill and began to write about Tutu's beautiful solo pas de deux to save the Prince's heart from Kraehe. He felt something brush against his leg, and looked up to see that she'd already moved, and was looking up at him expectantly.

He reached down a hand and lovingly stroked the top of her head, then held it open for her to step into. She quacked happily, a much softer sound than her previous insulting tones, and he carefully lifted her. With a hop, she was settled into his lap, and curled up on his stomach as he slouched just a bit further to accommodate her. Propping his writing board up on his thighs on the far side of her, he dunked his nib again and went back to writing as she started to snooze peacefully on top of him.

He had a strong hunch he wouldn't have to worry about any of the other ducks that frequented their pond trying to take Ahiru away from him anymore.

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><p>Alternate title: A new challenger appears!<p> 


	7. Musings

_Princess Tutu_ © Itou Ikuko and Hal Film Maker, I'm just borrowing the characters for the enjoyment of myself and others.

I promise the next few will be a bit longer than these last few shorty shorts.

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><p>Musings<p>

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><p>Charon smiled as he heard the door to their house shutting and the echoes of Fakir running up the steps, quiet and muffled as they were over in the shop. He knew in a matter of moments he'd hear the much slower descent back down the stairs, and then would see the young pair for a moment as they popped into the shop on their way out for the afternoon.<p>

Like clockwork, he heard the telltale sounds, and then Fakir was leaning into the back room where Charon polished the fine cutlery he'd made that morning, a special order for a local bride's wedding feast. Ahiru wiggled free of his grasp and wobbled over to his table, her flight getting smother and more powerful with each passing day. She stared at the shiny metal with wide eyes, entranced with some of the details he'd painstakingly added.

Fakir walked over in her wake, balancing his writing pad on his hip as he tried to reach out for his companion. "We were just on our way out," he said, waving his hand expectantly at the duck who seemed more than content to ignore him. "Come on, moron," he said, his tone lacking any malice, "you can look at them once they're done; you're just in the way right now."

Ahiru flicked her tail at Fakir in response to the name, and then looked up at Charon for confirmation. He reached down to pat her head consolingly. "I promise I'll show you the full set when they're finished." She nodded earnestly and hopped into his hand, letting him pass her off to Fakir. "You two have a nice afternoon. It feels like tomorrow might rain, so enjoy your sunshine today while you can."

Ahiru quacked happily and waved a wing in his direction, and Fakir merely nodded, holding his charge close as he exited.

Charon rotated his wrist a few times to stretch the tired muscles, and then set back to work once he heard the front door of the shop close behind them. It was a beautiful, late summer day, so it would probably be quite late into the evening before they returned from the lake. It was a good thing Fakir wasn't very fair skinned, for as much time as the boy now spent in the sun.

He wondered how that story of his was coming along. Fakir had been fairly tight-lipped about what it was that he was so intently scribbling down, but he had asked Charon once about getting his help binding it when it was finished. Charon admitted he didn't have much experience with it, but together, they'd find a way to get it done.

He had a hunch that the story involved Ahiru, whether it was the past, the present, or a possible future that Fakir hoped would come true, he did not know. He suspected it was not the latter; his son seemed to still be quite wary of ever using his strange gift to try and alter reality. He suspected that was a wise decision, and given the events of the past could not find fault in his judgment.

He'd never admit it, but there was a small part of him that wished very much that Fakir could and would turn the girl back though, if that was what he wanted in his heart. She clearly made him happy, and it had been a long, long time since Fakir had been able to have real happiness. They never spoke of the possibility of turning her human, of altering her fate, but there were stares, glances that Fakir stole when he thought no one was looking. Ahiru would be happily eating, fully focused on the meal before her, and Fakir would stare at her with a mixture of such joy and sorrow in his eyes that Charon's heart would ache for him. He'd idly scratch at that scar on the back of his hand, and then as suddenly as it came, it would be gone, buried deep within his sheltered heart.

Charon could still recall her with perfect clarity despite the short time he'd spent with her, her bright blue eyes and the dusting of freckles across the bridge of her nose, the lengthy tail of sun-kissed red hair that seemed nearly as long as she was tall. He set down the piece he was polishing for a moment, resting his chin in his hands as he stared into space. He wondered what their kids would look like, if that were ever possible for them. With her delicate build and Fakir's dark coloring, they would probably be beautiful.

With a wry smile, Charon shook his head to dispel the images. _Really, imagining grandchildren?_ he chided himself. The poor girl had returned to being a duck, and he suspected that if Fakir could not have her, he would likely never take another woman to replace her. It was obvious from the way he looked at her; she was his sun, his moon, his stars, and his sky. He would mourn his love for her till the day he died.

For now though, both seemed intent to focus on what they had now, their time together. They had to know that eventually, fate would not be kind to them, but they were determined to make the most of what they had.

They had shed their doubts, and were living their lives together the best they could; if this was the closest Charon ever got to a daughter-in-law, so be it.

Every day that Fakir returned home in the evenings with a light in his eyes and Ahiru in his arms was a gift, as far as he was concerned. His son still didn't smile much, but it was obvious that he was so much happier when he was with her.


	8. Farewell to Dreams

_Princess Tutu_ © Itou Ikuko and Hal Film Maker, I'm just borrowing the characters for the enjoyment of myself and others.

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><p>Farewell to Dreams<p>

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><p>It was surreal writing about yourself writing, Fakir decided with a wry chuckle while he worked on completing Ahiru's story.<p>

He was nearing the end of his record, his words at times flowing like water from a pitcher and at others dripping slowly; it depended largely on how solidly he could remember the events. It was difficult to not let his own feelings color his recollections, especially during this portion of the story.

After all, he wanted to be able to read Ahiru her tale one day, and would die of shame if it was full of notions of love and some of the flowery phrases he thought sometimes about her 'thawing the frozen barrier of ice that had encompassed his wounded heart.' He wrinkled his nose at the words as he thought them, knowing he would be mortified beyond belief and she would probably just laugh at him if he ever voiced them aloud. He had been reading her far too many fairy tales in the evenings lately, clearly.

It had been liberating, putting her story to paper. It let him remember every wonderful detail about her while somehow helping him say goodbye to the notion of her humanity. It provided closure in a private, therapeutic fashion, and it would be an everlasting homage to the power of her heart and her hope. He would always treasure the time he had been given with her, even if someday instinct or nature or time took her away from him.

He would always remember that she thought him more than a worthless knight meant to die, even if she never loved him like she loved the Prince. She had faith in him, and had helped him fight to protect everything.

He tapped the tip of his fine, white quill feather against his lips, thinking through his next sentence before jotting it down.

_She knew, somehow had always known, that the Prince had always loved his Princess, despite how her form had been warped by the evil Monstrous Raven, and her heart wept in sorrow for the love she had lost. _

His quill stopped and his cheeks colored. He was nervous about how to write the next part, embarrassed to put it into words. Taking a deep, but shaky breath, he dunked his nib for more ink and settled further into his chair on the dock. He cast a longing glance to the dozing Ahiru as she floated on the placid water's surface, and he started writing once more.

_Through the puppetmaster's machinations, she nearly drowned in despair, wanting to help the Prince and Princess, but afraid._

Unsure how to best interpret their final moments together before that terrible battle in the streets of town, he paused once again and leaned his head back, closing his eyes. The memory flooded his mind, the feel of her trembling body in his arms, the bitter tears she had cried when her efforts to remove the pendant had been for naught, and the words he had admitted so painfully. He could feel his hand shaking, could hear his pulse rushing in his ears; if there was ever a time to admit how he felt, this was it. Before he could stop himself, the words were flooding the page, along with the first written admittance of how deeply she was now ensconced within his heart.

_The Prince's Knight rushed to her side as quickly as possible, determined to let nothing stop him. No matter what, he would save her and the Prince. It was all he could do for the woman that had captured his heart so unexpectedly. He found her, held her close, and tried to share what little strength he had left in him with her, hoping beyond hope that it was enough. Together they fought off the darkness that had tried to settle in her soul, and together they arose from the despair, the final shard of the Prince's shattered heart in their grasp._

_With that, they had the power to stop the Raven and bring forth the light of a new dawn._

_No longer did she fear what the future might bring and with her last generous gift, freely given to the man who held her heart, the brave, kind soul that had been Princess Tutu was freed from the role that bound her, and she returned to her heart's true form, where she might find peace and happiness for the rest of her days._

He sighed with finality, trying to let go of the hope in his heart and accept once and for all that she would always remain a duck. However, a bright flash of red light to his left caught his eye and he dropped his quill in surprise.

"Wuuuuuuuaaaaaaaagh!" the cry and the following splash echoed in his ears and he dropped his papers, the tray that held them in place clattering to the dock next to his feet, propped into the air by the pen nib that lay beneath it. His inkwell fell unnoticed and rolled behind the chair, spilling ink in a splatter across the wooden surface. He was at the side of the dock fast enough to see the last of the spray from the splash settle down, his heart suddenly hammering in his chest.

_What the hell just happened?_

He quickly realized that Ahiru was nowhere to be seen, and was about to dive in after her, only to be startled by a flash of copper breaking the surface of the lake.

There, where the tiny white duck had been, was now a sputtering redhead, naked in all her glory. Her eyes were shining with something unrecognizable as she tried to stay afloat by treading water while clamping her arms around her breasts.

…breasts?

Fakir stared, dumbfounded, at the young woman, noticing that the curve of her jaw was just a little longer, her shoulders just a touch wider. It seemed that maturity as a duck had followed her into her human form… the human form that he could not explain! He looked back at the papers, and then his eyes returned to her face, a look of utter confusion mixing with the blush that he knew had to be staining his skin. He was distantly aware that she was saying something, shouting at him, but he was transfixed, drinking in the sight of her after so many weeks, so many months.

Had she always been that beautiful?

Her hair was unbound from that braid he knew so well and it was floating in the pond around her, the sun's light glinting off the wet strands. It was messy and wavy and he wanted so badly to run his fingers through it, to make sure it was real, to make sure **she** was real. His fingers twitched, aching to see if her skin was as soft as it looked, dying to grab her and hold her and **never let her go**.

He was jarred from his inspection by a large splash of water that she directed at him. He wiped his face dry with his sleeve and shook off the bits of water clinging to his hair. "What‽" He cried, suddenly indignant.

"Are you paying attention to me now‽" Ahiru shrieked, clearly annoyed with him. "You've just been spacing out at me!" She fidgeted in the water, her cheeks pink. "It's embarrassing!"

"I'm sorry," he mumbled, trying not to let his vision drift to that small shadow he could see forming above her arms, directly below her clavicle.

"And I'm cold!" she cried, glaring up at him. "I don't care how this happened, but I'm soaking wet and cold and I want to get out of this water. Right. This. Moment."

Without thinking, Fakir shucked his shirt, draping it over the chair behind him. He knelt down and held out his arms to her, then closed his eyes as tightly as possible, not sure he would survive the shock if he saw her entire body. His heart was already speeding into overdrive from the few glimpses of creamy skin he'd seen so far. It was bad enough when it happened on accident back when she was built like a stick, but now… he didn't even want to dwell on how else she might have changed. He felt her hands in his, her grip tight despite her small fingers.

"Are you ready?" he asked, turning his head away for good measure in case his eyes opened on accident.

She nodded, realized he couldn't see it, and made a face at her own stupidity. "Yeah."

He stood and lifted in one movement, her weight easy to manage despite all the extra water weighing down her hair; he didn't lift and spin girls all the time for nothing. Once her knees were able to make contact with the dock, she released his hands and scrambled aboard the surface, then stood and wrapped her arms around him as tightly as possible, knocking both of them to their knees with the force of her lunge.

She was frigid to the touch, and shaking.

Suddenly finding his arms full of a naked Ahiru, Fakir did the only thing he could think of, clench his arms around her as tightly as possible, afraid she might disappear at a moment's notice, or that he might awaken and find it all to be a dream. Her head settled on his bare shoulder and he rested his own against hers, his eyes drifting open to gaze off into the distance. His hands tried to stroke her hair and his fingers tangled in the wet mass, and he loved every moment of it. She was dripping all down his bare chest, and soaking his pants, and just couldn't bring himself to care. She was there, she was real, she was **back**. For long moments they stayed there, her drinking in his warmth as her shivers slowly died down from the combined heat of his body and the afternoon sun on her bare skin and him just drinking in her.

He tried very hard to ignore the fact that their naked chests were pressed together in those moments, but he knew his bastard imagination would never let him forget it. He could feel her soft curves pressed up against his chest and it was bliss and torture all wrapped up together. It felt like both forever and an instant when Fakir came to his senses and really thought about the fact that she was naked in his arms and they were out in the open.

They were in a secluded area, but that didn't mean someone couldn't decide to come by unannounced. "You should put on my shirt," he suggested, his voice thick with emotion and unvoiced hopes. He didn't know what he would do if this was all some kind of illusion.

"You have to let me go, first," she whispered back, her voice equally hoarse. He nodded and released her, keeping his eyes focused away. He could hear her stand and walk to the chair. His ears picked up the sound of her fumbling with the buttons, and then he felt her hand slipping into his once more and squeezing his fingers. "Thank you," she said quietly, and he finally allowed himself to look at her.

Her eyes were shining down at him from her standing vantage point above him, and the first thing to enter his mind was the notion that she was the most gorgeous woman he'd ever seen; he could still see the gawky little girl he had known her to be under the surface, but she seemed so –

His thoughts were cut off by her shuffling her feet and taking an awkward step into one of the puddles her hair created; she went careening backwards with a loud, resounding "QUACK!"

He couldn't help but laugh in surprise, but she glared up at him from her sprawl across the dock. It seemed that the Ahiru he knew was still quite intact, even if her hips were just a bit wider, and her bust a bit… bustier. The telltale sound of her heritage had not seemed to turn her back; indeed her transformation seemed permanent. He could see in her eyes when the thought occurred to her too; she suddenly pulled her hands up to look at them as if surprised that she was still five feet tall instead of one after letting out a definitive quack like that.

She looked deep in thought, examining her hands and fingers closely while Fakir turned away and tried to gather his things; his shirt covered her some, but she was still very indecent and he was afraid that his face may suddenly combust at a moment's notice. He finally noticed his jar of ink, the last remains of its contents dribbling slowly onto the dock. He found the discarded stopper and wrapped both in a clean sheet of paper before tossing it in his pocket. He'd have to clean it later. He focused on his task instead of the whisper of his shirt moving over her skin as she continued to examine herself.

"Hey… Fakir?" she finally asked, her words quiet. He stopped his paper shuffling and turned to look at her, still kneeling.

He swallowed, trying to clear the lump that formed in his throat when she crawled over to him. She really should have buttoned his shirt all the way to the top; she was going to kill him with a view like that. Another thick swallow, coupled with a solid attempt at focusing only on her face, and he could finally talk. "Wh… what?"

"Did you…" her eyes were shining with something he couldn't quite grasp, "did you do this… for me?" she asked.

He felt color flame its way across his cheeks, even his ears seemed to burn with the sting of his blush. "I think I might have, accidentally," he admitted, rustling the top page at little at her.

She reached for it automatically, then pulled her hand back. "Can I… see it?"

He nodded, relinquishing the page with shaking fingers.

Her eyes danced over the words, slowly reading about her last moments as Princess Tutu. Before she reached the bottom of the page, she looked up at him, one brow quirked in curiosity as she spied the stack of filled pages in his grasp. "This whole time, have you been writing… about me?" Nervousness fluttered in her belly as she looked up at him. He nodded again, unable to find his voice, and she smiled shyly before returning to the words in her hands.

She read and reread the last line three times before her eyes drifted to the white quill he held in his hand, and understanding flooded into her frazzled brain. It was a good thing she was still seated on the dock, because her legs would have no longer supported her weight with the realization of what had happened.

_No longer did she fear …_

… _her last generous gift, freely given to the man who held her heart…_

She assumed that his words had originally meant the heart shard she returned, but somehow she knew; the gift that had transformed her was the crisp white feather she had given to Fakir, her wordless sign that she would always love him and the symbol of her desire to be with him.

She was beyond distracted; her brain never even registered that his love for her was written out where she could see it, plain as day. She was too focused on his beautiful words that had transformed her wish to stay by his side into… into this! Unintentional or not, this was the most amazing, most precious thing he could have ever given to her.

She was too embarrassed now to try to explain it to him, and he would probably figure it out on his own someday – the thought almost made her giggle in nervousness at him finding out her feelings in such a way. Once she had managed some semblance of control over the flutters in her chest, she looked back up at him, his eyes locking with hers.

"Thank you," she whispered quietly, handing the page back with a trembling hand to match his own.

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><p>Alternate title: The thing you're all here to see!<p>

Don't worry, this is NOT the end, not by a long shot! I've got a whole host of ideas if various stages of completion that I'm working on, but I hope you've enjoyed the ride so far! Sorry that the title was so… trixy and angsty sounding, I couldn't resist!


	9. Return

_Princess Tutu_ © Itou Ikuko and Hal Film Maker, I'm just borrowing the characters for the enjoyment of myself and others.

Just a heads up, it might be a few days before I can get around to finishing and proofing the next pieces, I've got my hands full with real life and completing my art for Fakiru Week on deviantArt. http: / / fakiru-week{dot}deviantart{dot}com/ The fun starts this Saturday, on Sept. 24th!

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><p>Return<p>

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><p><em>Can you die of humiliation? From having all the blood in your body stuck in your face because you are <em>_**carrying a nearly naked woman?**_

They were originally just walking back to Charon's house, but for as much extra height as he had over Ahiru, his shirt was hardly decent coverage for her. They'd tried to stick to back alleys and the wooded areas within the walls but outside the main bustle of the city itself, but Ahiru was still embarrassed by her lack of clothes, constantly pulling down the hem of his shirt as though it would make a difference.

That was when he'd stopped her, wordlessly handed her his writing things, and scooped her up into his arms without any explanation. In truth, he was too embarrassed by what he was doing to say it out loud. She'd squealed in surprise, and he could feel color blossoming across his face, his ears, and even his **shoulders** in those first moments when she flailed about and unintentionally rubbed up against him.

"Stop it or I'll end up dropping you, moron!" he yelled, feeling his tenuous control drop as two of his fingers slipped past his shirt tails and felt her soft, cool skin of her thigh thanks to all her jostling.

She hit him **with his own writing board** and screamed back, "I'm not a moron, you jerk! You should have said something! Who goes around just picking people up without warning them‽" She fumed up at him, and he tried so very, very hard not to stare at her pursed lips as she pouted.

"Shut up shut up shut up shut up," he seethed quietly, trying to force himself to look straight ahead. He was going to die right then and there if she moved again and he felt the curve of her hip glide against him one more time.

He felt like everything inside him was overloaded and he tried to push everything from his brain besides getting her home and getting Charon's help. It was bad enough that he had to keep the tails of his shirt under his hands so they didn't flap down and expose her; his lower hand had to practically hold her bottom when he would have much preferred to hold her under her knees, for his own sanity's sake.

She was about to argue once again, but looked up at him and saw his distress and immediately felt bad. He was just as uncomfortable as she was. She sighed and resigned herself to the indignity of being carried, because it was better than the shame of walking in just a borrowed shirt. She turned toward him, trying to bury her flushed face against his chest. If they did run into anyone, then she at least wouldn't have to see them looking at her.

The remainder of their return home was spent in silence; she tried to will herself invisible in his arms, and he prayed no one would see them or worse, stop them.

Ahiru tried to force herself to relax some. While she'd never ever admit it in a hundred million billion years, it was really nice to feel his arms around her, carrying her like she'd gotten so used to these past weeks. Fakir was still as warm and as strong as ever, and she could hear his heartbeat beneath her ear, its lullaby soothing and familiar despite the extra speed at the moment.

Fakir could tell when the tension drained out of her; she settled more firmly against him and became even easier to carry, braced as she was now. Whether she had accepted her fate or was just distracted, he didn't know, but he was thankful for the change. He tried to divert himself from the whole naked-girl notion by attempting to compose in his head what he was going to say to Charon when they arrived home. It all still seemed so surreal.

He didn't even know where to begin, because he didn't mean for something like this to happen. She seemed pretty convinced that he was responsible, and it did happen when he finished writing her tale… maybe Drosselmeyer had put some kind of weird spell on her? He was so confused; he had accepted her fate as a duck and had somehow managed to turn her human in the process.

_A thought for another day, _he decided when he finally saw the carefully scripted 'Schmied' sign for Charon's forge and shop, as well as their home. He pulled open the door, then kicked it the rest of the way open with his foot, hoping desperately that there was no one in the shop. "Charon!" he called out, setting Ahiru gently on her feet. "Charon, where are you?"

The sound of a chair scraping across the floor preceded his appearance in the doorway as Charon entered from the back room, wiping his hands on a damp rag. "Fakir, what's all this…" The rag dropped to the floor with a wet plop as he stopped mid-step and stared. His eyes darted between the two a few times before he rushed over and picked up a startled Ahiru, swinging her around. "You're back!" he cried, holding her up so they were eye level. She nodded excitedly and grinned; his joy was infectious.

Fakir watched the reunion while carefully picking up his writing effects that Ahiru had dropped, making sure the pages were straight and the quill undamaged before placing them on the nearest surface for the time being. He pulled out the paper-wrapped ink jar and set it down too. He leaned his hip against the wall, crossing his arms and taking in the sight of their celebration. It warmed his heart to see Charon and Ahiru so happy, and he felt his unease from their walk start to ebb away.

Charon finally took in the sight of the two of them, him topless and her in only his shirt. "Good gracious, you need clothes!" Charon cried, setting Ahiru back on her feet. He tapped a finger to his lips, deep in thought. "I think Raetsel took all her trunks of old clothes with her when she left… I'll have to go get her and see if she still has anything that might fit Ahiru." Reclaiming his accidentally discarded rag from the floor, he untied his apron and left them both draped across the table. "You two head into the house, I'll take the cart and be back with Raetsel and hopefully some clothes as soon as possible."

He smiled, gave a jaunty wave to the two, and was out the door and off to their small stable before either one could say a word.

Clearly, Charon was more than delighted to have another daughter figure in the house again.

Once again alone with each other in various states on partial undress, their nerves and over-awareness of one another returned with a vengeance. Fakir tried not to look in her direction while grabbing his things once more, motioning for her to follow. "Come on," he ordered, "you can wear some of my stuff until they get back. It might take them some time to find Raetsel's clothes from when she was younger and pack it up for you."

Fakir set his mind on what he was doing, focusing on the sounds of their feet on the floor and his intent to grab her clean clothes and then get the hell out of his room. He tried, desperately, not to think about the fact that she was going to be wearing his clothes, things that had been on his body before, and would likely be again in the future. He absentmindedly discarded his writing effects on his desk before moving to the dresser to get some clothing out for Ahiru to borrow. He made the mistake of turning to look at her when she made noise over by his bed; he caught sight of the smooth curve of the very top of her thigh as she was climbing onto the mattress and trying to hide under the blankets to wait for him.

He whipped his head around, eyes wide and staring blankly at his dresser. It just dawned on him that he'd carried her that entire way back, his hand indecently close to her… to her… … and she wasn't wearing any sort of undergarments! His hands were shaking when he finally started moving again, pulling open the drawer and mechanically pulling out a pair of shorts. Pants soon followed, and he started to rummage around his shirts for his old blue one from Raetsel, then remembered that he still hadn't been able to locate it after its mysterious disappearance, and pulled out a random one for himself instead.

He picked up the fresh clothes from where he'd dumped them on the floor and brought them over to Ahiru, his eyes darting to her just long enough to take in the sight of her huddled in his bed, cheeks flushed with the blankets drawn up to her chin. "Here," he mumbled, tossing them down on her lap and then stalking out the door as fast as his legs could carry him, nearly slamming the door shut in his rush to get out of the room.

He leaned against the wall, bringing his hands up to cover his face as his legs gave out and he slid down to the floor. He could feel the heat of his blush radiating into his hands and he groaned, trying not to hear the noises of her rustling about on his bed while she dressed. His forehead fell to his drawn up knees and he moved his arms to clutch them behind his head, balling up as everything started to hit him at once, now that he was alone.

She was back. She was a girl, a human…. a woman. He hadn't meant to, but he'd felt the soft curves with his hands while she was fidgeting in his arms, and he could still recall the feel of her pressed up against him on the dock. She was still tiny, would probably always be petite, but now she had hips and a dip in her waist and... and… and breasts. They weren't large by any means, but they'd been unforgettably soft, he could just imagine how they'd fit in his palm, and–

He slammed his head back against the wall, trying to derail the salacious thoughts before he'd embarrass himself. He could already feel the recently all too familiar sensation between his legs, no thanks to those damned dreams of his. It was a miracle Ahiru had never found out about them. Especially now.

Now that she was sliding those hips of hers into his clothes, after having sat nearly naked in his bed.

Another slam against the wall.

"Are you okay?" Ahiru called from his room, the shout muffled through the door.

_No, I'm not okay! I want to do terrible things to you! Nnnnggh!_ "…I'm fine!" He dug the heels of his hands into his eyes, trying to banish the mental images. He needed to get a grip on himself and fast, **before** she came back out of that room. For the first time ever, he was glad that Uzura had vanished, presumably disappearing into the story since a puppet girl should not have been able to live in reality. He would have died on the spot from a heart attack if she were suddenly hounding him with questions about Ahiru's nudity, his odd behavior, and the slight bulge in his pants he was trying so damn hard to fight.

He heard the click of the door's latch opening and turned to look, watching it swing open slowly before Ahiru stepped out into the hallway, his pants held tightly in one hand to keep them up. "Um… Fakir? Do you… do you have a belt I can use? They're too loose." Somehow, seeing his sleeves swallow her arms, and her dainty feet disappearing in the extra folds of material on the ground was… pleasing? It didn't excite him unduly like before, but he couldn't help but feel warmth in his chest at seeing her dwarfed by his things. It felt and looked more right than he would have ever imagined.

It worked wonders on his thundering pulse, he noticed, as he was able to stand with ease. He smirked and shooed her back into the room. "Come on, sit back down on the bed and I'll get you taken care of." He could tell his ears were still a bit pink, but the heat and color were receding as he grabbed the shirt he'd forgotten to put on and shrugged into it, buttoning it and cuffing the sleeves out of the way of his hands as he followed her.

She smiled up at him, her nerves assuaged by having clothing covering her once more. Making a big production out of jumping and throwing her hands into the air, she bounced back onto the bed.

Kneeling down and reaching under his bed for a moment, Fakir found what he was looking for with surprising ease. "This is my smallest belt, but I have a feeling it still might not be enough." He helped her roll back her flopping sleeves and she threaded it through the belt loops, cinching it to the smallest notch. When she jumped up once more, the pants slid down and gave him a brief glimpse of soft skin and the shorts she wore, but the belt did stop them high enough on her hips that it would be sufficient.

He motioned sternly for her to sit again when he saw her standing on the loose material of the pants and she obeyed, kicking her feet up at him and laughing. "I'm too short for your pants!" she said with glee.

"You got that right, squirt," he said with a sly look, catching one of her flying ankles and stilling it so he could roll cuffs into the pants.

She took a swing at him with her hand, her sleeve billowing with the action. "I am not a squirt, you're just really tall!" she argued, making a funny face at him.

"You're totally a squirt," he teased back, releasing her small foot and picking up the other one. He never would have guessed that helping her dress would be the mundane act to finally break the awkward tension that had formed between them. Perhaps it was just that they were both fully clothed once more.

Regardless, it was comfortable, and nice, and he realized that it made him far happier to have her here than he would have expected. His peaceful acceptance of her duck form had melted away to a surreal relief and joy that was still settling in after hearing her voice again for the first time in more months and weeks than he could recall. He looked up at her, her ankle still resting in his hands, and noticed she was sticking her tongue out at him. She smiled when their eyes met.

She wiggled her foot free from his grasp, proceeding to fold both her legs up on the bed. "I'm **not** a squirt," she insisted again with a smile and a haughty head toss he'd seen all too often. She slowly looked back at him, and somehow smiled even more.

Wordlessly, he stood and joined her on the bed, leaning his elbows on his knees and staring out the window as he sat down. He wondered about the implications of her humanity, and decided to keep his eyes peeled for anything strange in case it heralded more trouble for the town. He worried about whether she would be upset with him; she was convinced he'd returned her humanity even though he'd told her it was alright to just be a duck, all those months ago below the Lake of Despair. He'd meant what he'd said then, but he couldn't deny that his heart had longed for something like this, for her. After long moments of silence passed, he heard her fidgeting and glanced over at her. It took a few seconds of staring before it dawned on him, but then he realized what was happening; Ahiru was doing ballet stretches.

Of course she would. She was human again, that would be one of the first things she would want to do; they'd have to look into what they could do about her rejoining the academy and resuming her interrupted ballet training. Even if he'd accidentally returned her to being a human girl, he'd also given her back that which she had so loved, ballet. Smirking in amusement at her desperation to dance, he did the only thing that felt natural; he stood before her and held out his hand, an expectant look on his face. No words were needed as he beckoned her up with his eyes.

He'd wipe away the sadness of their parting, final pas de deux together with a new memory, with the joy and freedom of their first dance together after her return.

She looked up at him, saw the intent in his face, and flushed. Had she really been so obvious? She wanted so badly to feel her feet arching, her muscles stretching, her soul singing with the joy of dancing. She let him clasp her hand and draw her up, and within moments they were tromping down the stairs with all the grace and control of children on Christmas morning, their footsteps loud and echoing in the empty house as they made their way for the expansive space outside would provide them.

By the time Charon returned with Raetsel, their feet were a mess; kicked-up dust from the cobblestones coated the bottoms of their pants and bare feet and ankles. It didn't matter; she was smiling and laughing and he was twirling her around as though she was the most skilled prima donna in the world instead of a clumsy little duck that almost stepped on his feet with her ill-practiced movements.


	10. A Change of Clothes

_Princess Tutu_ © Itou Ikuko and Hal Film Maker, I'm just borrowing the characters for the enjoyment of myself and others.

Many thanks for patient waiting and all the wonderful new reviews and favourites and alerts!

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><p>A Change of Clothes<p>

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><p>"Oh, Ahiru!" Raetsel cried, clambering down from the cart and pulling the younger woman from Fakir's arms to hug her. "It's so good to see you! Charon told me all about you coming back and your trunk getting lost; how terrible it must have been for you!" She pulled back, holding Ahiru's shoulders in her hands and taking a long look. "Goodness, look how much you've grown! Has it really been so long? How was your trip?"<p>

Fakir and Ahiru both glanced nervously at Charon, wondering what he must have told her. It was obvious that Raetsel remembered Ahiru in that same vague, distanced way of the few classmates Fakir had spoken with, but apparently Charon had come up with some sort of cover story on his ride over to get her.

"Well… I got here safe and sound," Ahiru said with a smile, unsure of what to say. She tried to look to Fakir for some sort of cue, but thankfully Charon stepped in and saved the day, or at least the moment.

"Why don't you two head inside while we grab this case down, and then we can start making dinner. You remember where everything is, right, Raetsel?" He motioned for Fakir to help him with the cart as Raetsel and Ahiru made their ways inside.

Ahiru gravitated towards the table and tried to stay out of Raetsel's way as she started getting out all sorts of plates and cookware and crockery. Ahiru had never paid much attention in the kitchen when Charon and occasionally Fakir were making things. Pleased with the items she'd retrieved, Raetsel turned her attention once more to Ahiru.

Ahiru gulped.

However, her smile was still warm and soft like Ahiru remembered, and it started to put her at ease even though she had no idea what Charon had told Raetsel. Wiping her hands on the apron covering her skirt, she took a seat next to Ahiru. "Charon said you took some time off for your health to visit your relations and you've just returned back to resume your dance studies at the academy."

"Ahh…. Yes," Ahiru lied, hoping Raetsel couldn't tell and feeling bad about her dishonesty, "I went to stay with my family because I couldn't dance." _That's almost the truth... right?_

Raetsel reached over and patted her hand. "That must have been hard for you." Ahiru looked at her in confusion and she continued, "You looked so happy to be dancing with Fakir, just now," she said with a sudden sly look to her smile.

Ahiru looked away and fumbled with the tails of the shirt that were bunched up in her lap. "I missed being able to dance," she admitted. "I tried to practice by myself, but it was hard."

"I'm sure it will come back to you with time; you and Fakir looked quite nice together, from what I could tell." She squeezed Ahiru's hand and giggled when the girl flushed, her cheeks a rosy pink. She leaned in conspiratorially and whispered, "He looked like he was enjoying it too." Rather than helping, it just made the blush worse.

Ahiru was about to stammer a denial but heard the door to the kitchen open and whipped her head towards it, both relieved and nervous to see Charon and Fakir arrive with the trunk of clothes. They placed it down at the foot of the stairs for the moment and Charon began working on dinner in earnest.

Raetsel went over to the chest, motioning for Ahiru to follow, and showed her how to work the latches to close it and where she could insert a lock if she wanted to protect what was inside.

Fakir left them to their clothing inspection and went to help Charon with dinner. Seeing him depart, Raetsel gave that same sly smile from before but covered it before Ahiru could notice, handing her the topmost shirt before rummaging around for a skirt for Ahiru to try on with it. She finally settled on one that would suit her well and found an underskirt to go with it, extracting both from the masses of clothes in the trunk and handing them to the smaller woman. "Here," she said happily, helping Ahiru up and guiding her towards the stairs, "you go and try these on; I want to see how they fit." She made little shooing motions with her hands, encouraging the smaller girl as she went.

Ahiru bundled her hands around the mass of fabric in her arms, clutching them to her chest as she ascended the stairs. Once she was safely back in Fakir's bedroom, she closed the door and sighed, starting to feel overwhelmed. She wasn't used to being the center of everyone's attention, and she was so bad at hiding things! Closing her eyes, she let herself fall back onto Fakir's bed, taking in the softness of the messy blankets as her legs dangled off the side.

She released her wad of clothes and rolled over, burying her face in the blankets and breathing deeply. They smelled like Fakir and the memories of dancing with him earlier flooded her mind, causing her to squeal quietly into the bedding. Being held by him again, getting to dance with him again… it was nothing short of amazing. She waited until her giggles died down before getting back up, sitting up and starting on the buttons that held her shirt closed.

If she hadn't been looking down at the buttons, she probably would have never noticed the changes to her chest. Before, Fakir had held her and then given her his shirt so quickly, she'd never gotten a chance to look down, and now that she did, she found herself just staring. Her eyes widened as she took in the curves that were most assuredly not there before, not as large as Raetsel's, but certainly more than she'd had before.

She gave in to the urge to grab them, comparing how they fit in her hands, and noticing that her waist tapered just a bit more than she remembered. This had to be new; there was no way she would have forgotten looking this… nice? She moved her hands to the sides of her hips, pressing against the supple skin and then bringing them up to look at the width between her open hands, _how did that even happen?_ She was still fairly thin and narrow, but there were definitely dips and swells that were not there previously.

She wondered if she was any taller, but had no good way to check, since she knew Fakir had grown some these past months too. She tried to remember how he had felt when she was dancing with him, but she ended up fixated on how his shoulders felt broader and managed to derail her brain completely.

Slapping her cheeks to force herself to focus, she took the shirt all the way off and discarded it on the bed, followed soon by the cuffed slacks. She lifted the skirts from the pile first, shimmying into them and trying to tie the strings in the waistband as tightly as she could. It felt weird to be wearing Fakir's shorts instead of real girls' underclothes, but that would be something she'd have to get on her own.

If never even entered her mind as strange that she didn't want underclothes from Raetsel but had put on Fakir's without a second thought.

She shrugged into the shirt, somewhat at a loss for what to do with the sleeves. She tried to drape them off her shoulders like Raetsel wore them, but they kept falling and dragging down the front with them. She gave up and pushed them up further on her shoulders; it wasn't perfect, but it would work. She'd have to see if there were different styles of shirts in the chest Raetsel had brought her. Clearly, even when she was younger, Raetsel had more curves to her than Ahiru, who was struggling to fill the shirt.

Content that the shirt was going to stay in place and utterly pleased with the wide, swishing skirts, Ahiru bounded back down to the kitchen to show off her efforts to the waiting Raetsel. She spun in a few slow circles, enjoying the flare of the skirt before it settled down once more.

"Oh, Ahiru, you just look so cute!" Raetsel exclaimed, directing her over to where the men were still finishing up cooking.

Ahiru smiled at the praise, looking down at the pretty, swishy skirt. "Are you really sure I can have all these clothes, Raetsel? Thank you so much!"

"Of course, of course," Raetsel replied, "Ah, this is so fun, it's like playing dress-up with a little sister," she added with a giggle. "Doesn't Ahiru look pretty?" she asked as she presented her to the boys.

"A vision of loveliness, to be sure," Charon said with that warm, fatherly tone of his.

Fakir glanced over and saw Ahiru holding up her skirts to get a better look at them. The angle she was leaning at caused the sleeves of her shirt to slip and the front of the neckline to scoop down; it gave him the perfect vantage point to accidentally look straight down the shirt, yet again seeing an image of that new valley of skin that would haunt his memories. He flinched when his eyes focused on it immediately, and forced himself to look away. He awkwardly scratched at his cheek while averting his eyes, cursing the blush that was already crawling across his cheeks as he mumbled "…it's fine."

Raetsel shot him a look and clapped her hands happily. "After dinner, let's try a few more pieces, to make sure they all fit, Ahiru." She said it with a pleasant smile, but something about her look sent a shiver down Fakir's back.

Realization dawned on him as her smile widened when she ushered Ahiru back over to the chest of clothes. In that brief glance Raetsel shot him, it was suddenly all too obvious…

_She knew._


	11. New Shoes

_Princess Tutu_ © Itou Ikuko and Hal Film Maker, I'm just borrowing the characters for the enjoyment of myself and others.

Sorry for the delay, lots and lots of time spent with Fakiru Week!

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><p>New Shoes<p>

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><p>Ahiru didn't want to admit it to anyone, but she was secretly happy when Charon had offered to continue housing her after the academy headmistress had informed them that the student dorms were completely filled. Apparently, all students with family in the city were residing at home this session. She hadn't known that was why Fakir was still living with Charon; a small part of her had hoped it was for her sake, since pets were not allowed in the dormitories. She had quietly asked about her old attic loft, but the headmistress had been adamant that such a location did not exist in any of the student housing buildings.<p>

Fakir had told her later, when she insisted it had been real and asked him about it, that it was probably all thanks to Drosselmeyer, since housing had always been fairly full. He'd certainly been skilled enough at meddling that something as simple as a single attic loft wouldn't have caused anyone undue confusion.

Charon had insisted that she was more than welcome to continue sleeping in Raetsel's old room down the hall from Fakir, stating that it was nice to have them both in the house in the evenings to keep him company.

Leaving this morning with Fakir had been nothing short of perfect; first a tasty breakfast for the three of them, and heading off to the academy with plenty of time to spare to meet her new ballet teacher, well before normal classes were supposed to start. She'd felt bad that he'd gotten up early for her so she wouldn't be late, but he assured her three different times that he had things he needed to check up on in the library, and that it wasn't a problem.

Standing outside the familiar dance room, Ahiru began to fidget, tugging at the bottom hem of her blue leotard. She was excited, but also quite nervous. Fakir had said that Frau Katze was a good teacher, and nice enough, but with her past experiences… she was still worried. She was still fidgeting when a graceful, tall woman in casual clothes rounded the corner, a bag of equipment hanging from one shoulder.

"You must be Ahiru," she said with a smile, holding out her hand in greeting. Ahiru nodded mutely, reaching out and taking her hand while she was entranced by how pretty her teacher was. "Shall we go in?" she asked politely, opening the door to the studio and holding it for Ahiru. Ahiru nodded again, then bowed her head as she hurried into the room, getting more and more nervous by the moment.

Setting down her bag by the large phonograph, Katze pulled out some reels for it and placed one in, starting it up before walking back over to Ahiru by the barre. "Let's just start with some nice warm-ups, then we can move on to the evaluation part, okay?" She toed off her small shoes and stood before Ahiru at the barre, moving through stretches and motions with her as she listed them off.

She faced Ahiru the whole time, so that she could watch her while she moved without the pressure of the evaluation itself. The first thing that struck her, before she noted that she was rusty from her time off, was her energy. It was rare to see such heart in such simple dancing movements, especially for one as inexperienced as Ahiru.

Nearly half an hour passed as she watched her new student, taking in her sometimes ungraceful movements that still managed to draw her attention and keep it. There was just something about her that she couldn't put her finger on exactly.

"Now that we're nice and limber now," Katze said with a smile as the last reel she selected finished, "let's go ahead and move out onto the floor and take a look at some of your jumps and turns." She swapped out for new music and continued to run through movements with Ahiru, looking at pirouettes, changements, grand jetés, and much more, including some gamely attempted fouetté turns that nearly brought forth very unprofessional giggles from Katze and did cause a nervous laugh from Ahiru after she fell from her third spin.

Katze knelt and lent Ahiru a hand up, pondering about the strange draw that she felt for the girl. There was just so much personality and heart in her movements, even when they were sloppy; it made it difficult to look away. With enough practice to hone her skills, she could be a beautiful performer. The thought of the awkward child morphing into the graceful adult caused a smile to spread on her face as she mentally dubbed Ahiru her 'little ugly duckling.' "You've done a fine job, Ahiru," Katze said. "I know you've had some time off, but it shows that you put some effort into trying to practice, so you're not as behind as you could be, and you certainly seem like a hard worker. For now, I'm going to place you in the lower intermediate level, but you'll need to catch up and work on your ankle strength before we can get you up en pointe. If you stay after class this afternoon, I'll help fit you for some shoes and show you how to sew in the ribbons yourself for future pairs." Ahiru gazed up at her with clearly unmasked joy shining in her eyes. "It's going to take hard work to catch up; most of these girls had already started their rudimentary lessons when I first got here a few months ago, so you've got some time to make up. But, like I said, if you work hard and practice every day, I see you being able to do it."

"Thank you thank you thank you!" Ahiru cried, her eyes still shining and on the verge of tears, "I'll work extra hard, every day! I promise I'll do everything I can to catch up!" Ahiru bowed her head over and over with emphatic nods, her excitement palpable.

Katze chuckled and patted her shoulder before grabbing one of the folders in her bag and handing it over to the jubilant girl. "Here's a class schedule for you, it lists all the lecture and practice times for both your specific group and the multi-level sessions, so you've got no excuses to miss class today." She wagged a finger at Ahiru and winked, her tone playful, even as she told her she was diving right in to class on her first day back. "I expect you to be ready to work this afternoon en demi-pointe, there's no sense in falling further behind while you're trying to build up your strength."

"Yes, ma'am!" Ahiru replied as she took the folder and darted for the girl's locker room. She did it! She wasn't in the beginners' course! She might even get to see Pique and Lilie today!

Ooooooh, today was the best day ever!


	12. Coming back to Familiarity

_Princess Tutu_ © Itou Ikuko and Hal Film Maker, I'm just borrowing the characters for the enjoyment of myself and others.

Double post, since everyone was so patient with me!

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><p>Coming back to Familiarity<p>

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><p>Pique cringed as she unlaced her shoes in the locker room, the release of the pressure causing her blistered toe to tingle. She let the pain distract her from Lilie's rambling for just a moment before looking up at the pair of girls sitting across from her on the bench.<p>

It was so wonderful to see Ahiru again; she had been gone for so long! Pique could barely remember how many years it had been since she'd seen her; she was so mature looking now, even if she was still as graceless as she remembered. Frau Katze had implied that Ahiru would one day join them en pointe, though right now she didn't have the ankle strength necessary to keep up with the speed of the rest of the class.

Pique remembered those first, terrible weeks of exercises and bleeding toes; she'd bought herself a heavy duty file and was now meticulous about keeping her nails short and clean. She didn't envy Ahiru's upcoming struggles to build up her leg muscles enough to spend an entire class moving about in pointe shoes.

Looking up from wrapping her ribbons around the heels of her shoes, Pique caught the tail end of Lilie's rant, the blonde shaking the slightly taller Ahiru side to side as she clutched her tightly and sobbed dramatically, her tone laced with glee.

"–and it will be so adorably tragic when you fail and are forced to drop down to the beginners' course. We'll be cheering for you as you battle futilely to crawl your way back into the teacher's good graces enough to come back to our class before failing all over again."

Ahiru looked like she was on the verge of tears, staring at Lilie in abject horror. Apparently all her time away _(how long had it been? She couldn't recall…)_ had managed to wipe all recollection of their friend's… unique outlook from Ahiru's memory. Reaching over to rescue her, Pique rested a hand on Lilie's shoulder and shook her hard to get her attention.

"Ahiru needs to get changed so she can go get her pointe shoes. Did you want to go try the sundaes at that new café in town?" She hoped that the promise of desserts would be enough to distract Lilie from her reclaimed tormentee.

It worked like a charm. Lilie released Ahiru immediately, clasping her hands together and staring at Pique with shining eyes. "Oh, poor, poor Ahiru! Getting your dreams built up so soon after your return before you realize that you'll never be able to catch up to everyone else in the class and having to know that your peers are out getting delicious treats and possibly meeting boys while you're stuck sewing shoes. How terrible!" Ahiru's panicked gaze met her own and she rolled her eyes, she didn't remember the other girl being so **soft** before. Really, you just needed to know how to handle Lilie.

Pique made a little shooing motion with her hand at Ahiru, then smiled to take the sting away from her dismissal. "You hurry up and change and head on back so you don't actually get in trouble. I'll keep her distracted here."

Ahiru looked apprehensively at the chattering blonde girl before turning away. She shucked her leotard and shrugged into her uniform shirt before shimmying her skirt up her hips, then swapped her tights for her underwear. When she turned around again, Lilie was still talking, the same moony look on her face as she sat there in her blue leotard, pointe shoes still encasing her feet.

"–we'll never get the opportunity to see your cute panicked face as you're late waking up every morning but it will be so delightfully disastrous when you still manage to be late for class every day and we'll be sure to applaud you as you try hard during all of the detentions–"

"You'll... you'll make sure she actually changes and gets something to eat, right?" Ahiru asked, boggling at how Lilie still managed to speak for so long without taking a breath.

Pique just laughed and waved her out the door again. "Don't worry, this is old hat for me. I'll get her changed and moving once you're safely away. Enjoy your shoe lesson!"

Ahiru grabbed her things and turned to wave one last time before leaving, sprinting back towards the classroom where Katze would be waiting for her.

With a fond smile, Pique went back to packing up her things. Casting an amused look at Lilie, she hefted her bag and looked expectantly at the other girl before she finally took the hint and started unlacing her shoes, her mouth continuing to move all the while.

It had felt like so long since Lilie had been so over-the-top excited at the potential ills that might befall another person. She shook her head at the ridiculousness of the stream of words coming from her friend.

_Life was certainly going to be more interesting from now on…_


	13. Puzzles and Practices

_Princess Tutu_ © Itou Ikuko and Hal Film Maker, I'm just borrowing the characters for the enjoyment of myself and others.

Sorry that I'm slowing down the posting schedule on this; I've been inspired for a lot of other things at the same time, so it's taking longer to write and proofread.

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><p>Puzzles and Practices<p>

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><p>Ahiru was practically bubbling over with excitement as she sprinted through campus, her fingers clutched around the precious shoes in her hands. Frau Katze had helped her after class today, carefully measuring and adjusting until they were just right, and now… and now she had her very own pointe shoes! They had gone over the simple warm up practices they had done in class today and Frau Katze had promised that she'd be able to join the rest of them en pointe during class once she caught back up and strengthened her ankles and feet enough. She reiterated over and over that it would take time and hard work, but Ahiru was determined to do it.<p>

It was really happening! Ahiru was going to get to learn to dance en pointe, just like Rue! And she'd be doing it as plain Ahiru, not Princess Tutu!

She couldn't wait to tell Fakir!

She raced around the corner to the literature building, trying to remember which classroom was the one where he took his extra lessons in the afternoons. She contemplated waiting outside for him, but she was just too excited. She wanted to show him her shoes right away; it was literally a dream come true for her to be holding them in her hands. Stepping into the quiet building, she looked down the hallways, trying to figure out which classroom was the one she wanted.

She nearly jumped out of her skin when one of the doors she walked past opened right behind her. Students filed out in pairs and trios, each engrossed in their personal conversations. When the teacher exited and no one else seemed to be left, she peeked through the doorway to double check if the room was indeed empty.

Her eyes lit up when she saw Fakir in the back of the room, methodically packing away his things while he spoke in hushed tones with Autor, who was arranging his own belongings as he stood behind his desk. She walked in as quietly as possible and stood at the front of the room, waiting impatiently for them to notice her as she bounced on the balls of her feet in anticipation. She held her shoes in front of her face, wanting them to be the first thing he saw when he finally looked up and discovered her presence.

Of course, because she wanted Fakir to notice her, Autor was the first to see her, and it caused him to stop talking mid-sentence; she could see his mouth hang open for a moment from across the room. "What had you wanted to ask–" He dropped the book in his hands and it clattered loudly on the table, splaying open. Staring her down, he calmly removed his glasses, cleaned them on his jacket, and replaced them before turning to give Fakir a long, intent look. "Never mind," he said quietly with a sigh. "I think I already know."

Fakir looked at him curiously, then followed his gaze to the front of the room. "Ahiru!" He took note of the shoes in her hands; they were admittedly hard to miss since she was tapping them together in front of the lower half of her face. He was about to get up and head over to her, then glanced back at Autor and stilled at the look he saw leveled upon him. He peeked back at Ahiru, then returned his gaze to the bespectacled boy and grimaced. "I don't actually know how it happened. I think it was an accident," he admitted, his tone quiet so it wouldn't drift up to her.

A single eyebrow raised above the frame of his glasses. "How does one accidentally bring back a girl that had vanished?"

Fakir mentally cursed at his desire to keep Autor from knowing she was originally a duck, and tried to think of a good way to say it without giving anything away. "I was writing the tale of her efforts as Princess Tutu to return _Prinz und Rabe_ to normal, because I–" he hitched for just a second, reluctant to say his next words. He could already feel color starting to crawl into his cheeks. He settled for glaring icily at Autor, wordlessly threatening the boy if he dared say anything about Fakir's chromatic… alterations. "–didn't want to forget everything that had happened."

Autor rolled his eyes at Fakir's glower while he crossed his arms and slowly settled back into his seat, deep in thought. "Did you… did you finish the story, after it happened?" He brought his hand up to his face, stroking his jaw as he concentrated.

Straining to remember the events of that day as clearly as possible, Fakir frowned. "I think it actually happened right after I finished the story."

With a nod, Autor accepted his words, tapping a fingertip on his cheek as he formed a theory in his head. "It **sounds** like you managed to change the ending of Drosselmeyer's story for the town by rewriting it, rather than start some new story to bind everyone." He sighed, giving Fakir an admonishing look and a shake of his head. "I'll keep my eyes open to see if anything seems weird, but I think you managed not to screw anything up too badly here." He removed his glasses once more and rubbed his fingers into his eyes. "Honestly, I can't imagine what possessed you to do that. Surely you learned before that your power was strongest when writing about her; I can't believe you didn't think something would happen."

Fakir scowled at him darkly. "I wasn't **trying** to do anything. I just wanted a lasting record of everything that she did, so that she wouldn't be forgotten," he admitted sullenly.

Autor gestured up at the girl, still watching them from the front of the room, though her excitement seemed to have leeched out of her in the interim since they had first noticed her presence and left her standing up there, alone. "Well, it certainly seems like you've made her more than unforgettable," he said with a final shake of his head before standing once more and picking up his equipment. "All we can do is watch and wait," he tossed back at Fakir as he started up the aisle between the desks. He gave Ahiru a curt nod as he walked past, mumbling "Welcome back."

His tone seemed like the final thing to take all the wind out of her sails, and Ahiru cast one sad look back at Fakir while he packed his things before morosely following Autor from the room. She watched the bespectacled boy walk away and leaned against the wall, her shoes dangling in front of her from her limp hands. She knew Fakir wouldn't have been as overtly excited as her, but she'd hoped that he'd at least care that she'd gotten pointe shoes! Instead, they'd glanced up at her and gone back to their conversation without a single word beyond her name. Once.

Still pouting, she let her legs fall out from beneath her and she slid slowly down along the wall, staring at her feet.

A knock on her head had her looking up, and she was surprised to see Fakir there; he was crouched down next to her, that small smile of his that caused her heart to flutter on his face. "Come on," he said, holding out a hand to her as he stood. The smile vanished and his normal expression slipped back into place. "Up you go."

She took his hand and let him help her up, then fell into step behind him as he started to walk. Still upset, she watched her feet while she walked instead of trying to start a conversation. However, once they were outside, he began walking back towards the ballet studios instead of the large gates of the entrance so they could return to Charon's. "Fakir?" she asked, her brows furrowing in confusion as she looked over at him. "Aren't we going home?"

He bopped her on the head again, and ducked out of the way when she tried to swat back at him. "Moron. Didn't you want to show me your new shoes?"

Her face lit up like a sun and she ran over to him, so excited that she didn't even register that he'd called her a name. "Really? You want to see?"

He started walking again and motioned for her to keep up. "Someone has to make sure you don't break an ankle; you're so clumsy. Charon would never forgive me if I let you hurt yourself because you were being an idiot." She was about to take a swing at him with her shoes, determined to do some damage, but he spoke again and it stopped her. "If you wait here for me every day, I'll come straight over after I've finished with Autor." He kept his gaze pointed straight in front of him as he said it, trying to downplay the significance of his offer.

Her anger melted away in an instant and she was nearly brought to tears from his generosity. She jogged in front of him and stopped, looking up at him with a hopeful expression. "Really? You'll help me practice every day?"

She was looking at him so intently; he had to look away from her face before the joy shining in her eyes made him blush even more in embarrassment. "Don't ask pointless questions. You want to get better, right? So, we have to work every day."

She was positively beaming, grinning up at him before spinning in a circle, she was so happy. "Thank you so much, Fakir!" she said before running off ahead of him to go change back into her new blue leotard in the girl's dressing room.

He watched her sprint off and chuckled quietly, shaking his head as he made his way to the boy's locker room. As he began to change, he made a silent wish that it would always be this simple to make her that happy.


	14. Abundant Awkwardness

_Princess Tutu_ © Itou Ikuko and Hal Film Maker, I'm just borrowing the characters for the enjoyment of myself and others.

Life is so busy! You all know how it is. Don't sorry, there's still more to come.

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><p>Abundant Awkwardness<p>

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><p>Ahiru sprawled back on Fakir's bed, her legs straight up in the air as she rotated her ankles around slowly, stretching the stiff and sore muscles of her legs. Wearing pointe shoes was <strong>so<strong> hard and Fakir had been a brutal taskmaster. Her toes had felt extremely tender when she'd removed the beautiful satin shoes, even when he'd helped her bandage the two blisters that had started to form before shooing her off to the locker room to change.

The walk home had been slow, full of gingerly taken steps and many apologies to Fakir for her lack of speed. He'd waved them all off, and patted her on the head once, mumbling a quiet "Don't worry about it, moron." She'd been unable to work up the energy to retaliate.

Charon had been so sweet, pampering her from the moment she walked through the door, sitting her at the kitchen table with her feet soaking in nice, warm water while he asked her all about her first day back. She had almost cried from happiness a few times as she spoke to him; Fakir was listening intently while working on a report for his literature course.

Now that dinner was done, she was trying to burn time as she waited for Fakir to finish his essay, working her ankle joints as she did so.

Letting her head loll to the side, she stared blankly at his writing desk, wondering why he was still downstairs at the kitchen table instead of up here. She gazed at the desk before her eyes settled on her abandoned basket, still sitting on the edge nearest the window.

She was up with a jolt, suddenly remembering that she'd hidden Fakir's old blue shirt in that basket. She had to get it out of there before he emptied the basket and found it! Oh, she would just die of shame if he knew what she'd done; he'd probably be furious with her!

Jumping up in a panic, ignoring the tenderness of her feet, she grabbed the basket and tore out the door, trying to sprint quietly down the hall for the bedroom that had become hers. It had remained fairly bare since Raetsel moved out, so long ago, but now it had a chest of her own clothes – all the ones Raetsel had given her and a new set of uniforms, and a few pieces she had timidly purchased with Charon the morning following her transformation.

Closing the door behind her, she carefully extracted the threadbare blue shirt from her old nest, shaking it out a little to free it from the few feathers still clinging to it, and eyeing it critically. She couldn't just slip it back into Fakir's room, could she? Maybe if she slid it really far under his bed, he'd think he shoved it there on accident…

And yet…

She didn't want to part with it. Flushing with shame at what she was about to do, she folded the shirt up methodically and dug around in her trunk until she reached the very bottom. Clearing a space, she tucked the shirt safely in a corner and then covered it back up with the mass of clothes she'd moved. At least for now, she could keep it secreted away, so Fakir wouldn't figure out what she'd done. It would have to do until she could find a better solution

Laughing nervously, she placed her basket on the floor next to her resealed trunk, twisting it around until it faced a direction she liked before sitting back on her heels to examine the placement.

_Perfect._

She gingerly stood once more, dusting off her skirt as she did so. An unexpected knock on the door made her jump and she fell over in shock, staring at the door in surprise. She was still there when Fakir peered his head in, looking down at her for a moment before moving his eyes to the wall above her.

Pushing back down her rumpled skirt, _how did it crawl up that much just from falling‽_ she winced and looked up at him. "What did you need, Fakir?"

Flicking his eyes back down and noticing that her thighs weren't scandalously peeking out at him anymore, he was able to meet her eyes without staining his whole face red. "I was… wondering if you still wanted to read," he fumbled a bit, "well, have me read," he clenched one hand and started over, "…Did you want listen to me read a story, like we… like before?" That was far harder to ask than he had expected. She stared up at him silently, and he fought the urge to fidget under her gaze. "We were still in the middle of that last story I brought home," he paused, scratching at the back of his neck and drawing his eyes away from her stare, "I didn't know if you'd want to finish it."

She tried to not let it show just how much her insides were fluttering at his offer, forcing her hands to release the material of her skirt when she noticed she was bunching it up nervously. "I'd really like that, Fakir," she admitted after a thick swallow to try to clear the tightness in her throat.

She winced internally at the harsh, croaking sound of her own voice. Why couldn't she get over all this nervousness around him? It wasn't like this before! Part of her wished she'd never realized that she was in love with him if it was always going to be so different now that she was a human again. She missed their easy closeness from before, both when she was a duck and when she was helping him when he tried to stop the raven.

He nodded curtly and turned without a word, heading back to his room with stuff, wooden steps. She followed awkwardly, eyes locked on her feet. It wasn't uncomfortable like this when he was helping her practice earlier, what was it about their old routines that seemed to be setting them off like this?

They paused inside his room, glancing at the single chair at his desk, identical to the one in her room, and the bed. Deafening silence settled further between them as they both realized they were the only two surfaces to sit upon in the room.

Taking a deep breath and steeling his nerves, Fakir grabbed the book from his desk in one hand and her wrist in the other, tugging her gently but insistently behind him as he moved over to the bed. She squeaked once in surprise, almost reminiscent of a quack, but acquiesced to his guidance. He was bound and determined to get over this weird tension, and falling back into their old habits seemed to be the surest way to do it.

He didn't love her any differently than before, and he'd never had a problem with her lying in his lap while he read before, so dammit, that's what he was going to do.

Settling down against the headboard, he wordlessly pulled her onto him before he lost his nerve. By the time he found his voice again, she way situated in his lap, her arms draped across his thighs as she rested her head against his chest and sprawled her legs out between his in front of them both on the bed. His words rang out into the room as he resumed their interrupted story, a French-origin fairytale. Ahiru was instantly entranced once more by his reading of _Die Schöne Und Das Biest,_ still as spellbound by the plight of the merchant's youngest daughter as before.

Within minutes, the lull of his heartbeat from beneath her and the smooth rumble of his voice comforted her and chased away the nervous flutters, leaving only contentment to settle within her. Likewise, her warmth against him and the quiet responses she made to particular story points calmed him and he found himself comfortable enough to lay his chin upon on crown on her head and let his arms slowly rest upon her thighs for support.

By the time Ahiru was starting to nod off, lounging fully against him and struggling with all her might to keep her eyes open as the beautiful young heroine twisted her magic ring around her finger to return to the castle, it was almost as if nothing had ever changed between them.


	15. Ruminations

_Princess Tutu_ © Itou Ikuko and Hal Film Maker, I'm just borrowing the characters for the enjoyment of myself and others.

Hugs and love to everyone that recognized the original _Beauty and the Beast_ tale for what it was in the previous 'glimpse,' and to all the new followers and reviewers! I appreciate all of them. Still more to come~ Have some pondering Charon! (I used 'Mytho' here because that's how Charon thinks of him, and we're looking at his thoughts)

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><p>Ruminations<p>

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><p>Charon smiled to himself as he worked, humming tunelessly while his fingers ghosted over the gemstone in his hands, admiring the colors as he was working on the setting for it. It wouldn't be as fancy as a jeweler might have managed, perhaps, but Fakir had been insistent that Charon be the one to do this for him. While he couldn't fathom a guess as to where the stone had come from, Charon had a sneaking suspicion where it would be going, assuming his son has his way.<p>

The last few weeks had been peaceful and quiet in Goldkrone, if not always so within their home. The strangely tense atmosphere between his two charges had managed to fizzle away with startling speed, considering the amusingly large amount of fumbling right after Ahiru's return to humanity. In its place had rushed in the same sort of bristling that had been common when she was still a duck… except that now she had words at her disposal instead of quelling looks, angry quacks, and wing-smacks when Fakir got out of line.

That being said, it wasn't like they fought all the time and it was fairly obvious that most of it had little fire behind it. It was quite entertaining to watch, more often than not; Fakir had never before been close enough with someone aside from Mytho to act so openly, even he and Raetsel had been kept at arms' length from him most of the time. Fakir would make teasing sort of comments, Ahiru would rise to his baiting, he'd say something biting to try and put her in her place, and usually she'd then do something unexpected that would throw Fakir for a moment before he pulled a serious expression into place and found a way to have the last word. That was usually followed by sputtering. Sometimes a surprising rejoinder by the petite girl would leave Fakir sputtering instead before he'd call her an 'idiot' and ignore her. Winning an argument left the spritely Ahiru quite pleased with herself until their next verbal duel; she would toss around smug looks when she thought Fakir wasn't watching.

They certainly kept life around the shop interesting in the mornings, evenings, and weekends.

For all their play fighting and lighthearted grousing, both children seemed to be very happy; the dour sorrow that had draped over both of them in the early days when Ahiru first came to live with them was very much a thing of the past. Ahiru was constantly aglow with smiles and laughter, and Fakir… was dangerously close to smiling more than he'd likely ever admit. It was heartwarming to know Fakir could be so happy, even if he wasn't overly demonstrative about it. Ahiru chased away the shadows that had settled over Fakir upon losing his beloved brother figure in the heartless prince when he had been made whole once more and departed. Somehow, his serious son had managed to do the same for his cheerful duck-turned-human companion as well.

Charon examined his work as he stopped to stretch his wrists and rubbed at his neck, thinking back over the past happy weeks. The gem's setting was coming along nicely. The fine metal was softer than he was used to, but it seemed his touch was proving gentle enough for the task.

Glancing at the clock hanging upon the wall, he realized he still had plenty of time to work before they would return home for the evening.

He had assumed that they would return home earlier each day, now that Fakir's free time was not absorbed with writing by the lake, but instead their time was swallowed by dance. Ahiru spoke brightly about their practice, loving every painful moment, and Fakir…

Fakir finally seemed like he was dancing for the sake of dancing, rather than running away from life and his cursed fate that he had long since cast off but had haunted him like a looming phantom for some time. He suspected again Ahiru's influence in the matter.

While Charon had yet to see her dance again since that first joyous afternoon when they were twirling around on the cobblestones outside the front of the shop, he could only assume Ahiru was improving. She was no longer limping when they returned home in the evenings and they seemed to be running through their supply of clean, smaller bandages at a slower pace as her feet grew more accustomed to the perils of dancing en pointe. He certainly hoped their daily practices were helping; she seemed to be so in love with ballet, it would be a shame if she remained behind her classmates forever. Fakir had mentioned to him privately that she had always been lacking in grace before everything had changed, so it was certainly a legitimate concern.

He trusted in their closeness and her joy to know that if nothing else, their time together was definitely not wasted.

He chuckled to himself, wondering if he was going to have to get locks for their rooms at some point once they finally figured out what was between them; it was painfully obvious to an outside observer like him, but the pair seemed to merely feel their bond without recognizing it for what it was.

He chuckled suddenly at the train of thought, taking the moment to stretch once more as his working concentration was broken. Thinking about their personalities and Fakir painful shyness in particular, he suspected that he still had plenty of time before he had to worry about illicit teenage actions under their room from either of his wards.

Smirking in wry amusement, he wondered if Fakir even knew HOW to try and court a woman in the first place...

or if Ahiru would recognize it for what it was, given her unique history...

Peals of laughter echoed out of the once-quiet shop and into the peaceful evening.


	16. Revelations

_Princess Tutu_ © Itou Ikuko and Hal Film Maker, I'm just borrowing the characters for the enjoyment of myself and others.

Oh look, suddenly focusing on other characters besides Fakir and Ahiru! ಠ_ಠ

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><p>Revelations<p>

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><p>Pique fidgeted in her seat, grateful for once that Lilie was nowhere in sight. She'd spent so long psyching herself up for this moment; she couldn't bear to hear Lilie's delighted squeals over her pain if it ended poorly.<p>

For so long, she had been a member of the Fakir Faction, following him from afar and feeling a nervous flutter in her stomach whenever she saw him dance.

Today, all that would change! She was going to tell him how she felt!

She waited outside the classroom, knowing that he was gathering up his writing materials. A few weeks had passed since she first noticed that he was also taking writing classes in addition to all his time spent dancing. If possible, the knowledge had made her even weaker in the knees when she thought about him. She secretly loved to read; carefully hiding her few, precious romance novels from the prying eyes of Lilie and her other dorm mates. It was as much a transformation for her as putting on a ballet costume, a new world of fantasy opening before her with each book she read.

And to think that Fakir wrote…! Well, that would just be the most amazing piece of literature she would ever read, she decided.

Yes, today was definitely the day!

She watched from her perch atop the bench for his dark hair to appear, ignoring all the other classmates of his as they exited the room. Finally, she caught a glimpse of him and slowly rose from her seat, trying to follow unobtrusively until she could get him alone.

Her chance came in the courtyard, everyone else was making for the exits of the academy grounds, but he was walking back towards the ballet building, likely to retrieve his effects from his locker. She jogged to catch up, taking one last deep breath as she gathered her courage.

"Fakir!" she called, pleased beyond belief when he stopped and turned to face her. A flash of recognition was in his eyes, and his face softened from his glower of concentration.

"It's, um… Pique, right?" he asked politely, trying his hardest to 'not look grumpy,' as Ahiru put it.

She flushed in surprise, he knew who she was! "I was… I was wondering, if you'd like to um… to go with me to the café near the dorms." _Just breathe. Just Breathe. Just Breathe._ "…we could have coffee, um, together."

"I'm sorry, I'm actually on my way somewhere right now," he looked uncomfortable, unused to the attention. He still had a knack for scaring people away from him.

"Oh, um, I see." _If you don't say it now, you'll never do it! Push onward!_ Pique gripped her hands into fists, fighting off the flush on her cheeks as best she could by tilting her face down. "Um! I…! I really like you, Fakir! I have for a really long time! You dance so well; I've always looked up to you, and I'd… I'd…" She was nearly on the verge of hyperventilating with nerves at this point and just about jumped out of her skin when she felt his hand on her shoulder.

Her eyes jerked up, and her heart plunged into her stomach when she saw the pained look in his eyes. "I'm sorry," he mumbled quietly. His ears were dusted with pink, showing how hard it was for him to say his next words. "I know that you're a really nice girl, but I already have someone," he swallowed the lump in his throat, "someone that I love." His cheeks were flushed as he said the words, and she could almost hear how awkward he seemed to feel at voicing them. Pique could feel dread shooting through her veins, despite the sympathy she felt for him at the maelstrom of buried emotions she could glimpse in his green eyes. His fingers squeezed her arm gently, trying to convey his apology again. "I'm so sorry."

Burying her sorrow as deeply as she could, she lifted her head fully to look up at him, plastering on the brightest smile she could manage. "It's okay!" she grinned, and she knew it was fake and he knew it was fake, but it was the only thing protecting her, the only thing standing between her and breaking down. "I just, I really wanted you to know finally, ya know? I hope…" I she took a deep, shuddering breath. "I really hope she loves you too!"

Before Fakir could say another word, she had turned abruptly on her heel and was gone, waving behind her as she jogged away.

She ran blindly, ducking into the first building that she found. Once she was sure that she was far enough away from him and safely hidden, her sorrow bubbled up and she broke out into loud, mournful sobs. Her legs fell out from beneath her and she couldn't find enough strength within herself to care, collapsing to the floor and trying to bury her face in her knees.

Autor rolled his eyes at the slamming door as it echoed throughout the library, and was already on his feet to yell at the intruder when the sound of wailing reached his ears, stopping him in place with his mouth open, gaping like a fish. It was staying near the front door; whoever was making all that noise seemed quite content where they were, without a second thought spared for whom they might be disturbing. He marked his page and closed his book, pushing up his glasses as he went to investigate.

A crying girl was not exactly what he expected to find, despite how her sounds should have given her away. He was a loss for what to do as he approached; his people skills were notoriously bad. "Hey now, hey now," he tried, kneeling down in front of her, "enough of that, it can't be as bad as you're carrying on."

She flatly ignored him, and possibly cried even harder.

Okay, his people skills were **Beyond** notoriously bad.

He reached out with both hands to grasp her shoulders, planning to force her to look up at him and at least tell him what in the blazes her problem was, but she fell against him when his hands made contact, clutching at the front of his jacket and pressing her face into his chest. Tumbling ever further out of his comfort zone all the time, he stiffened and looked down in horror at the small, shaking figure that was now using him for support. "Hey, come on now, no crying on me until you at least tell me what's wrong," he joked weakly.

She sniffled loudly, and looked up at him with wet, bleary eyes, "he loves someone else!" she bawled, her cries starting anew as Autor felt a lump of ice settle in his gut. This pain… this, he knew. He rocked back on his heels until he was sitting on the ground, and pulled the inconsolable girl into his lap with the motion.

"It's not the end of the world," he mumbled, seeing a flash of red eyes and dark hair in his mind.

Apparently she could hear some things just fine when she wanted to, because she was suddenly shoving him and glaring at him with fire in her puffy eyes. "What would **you** know about it‽" she cried, her fingers knotting in her skirt now that she wasn't gripping his coat anymore.

With a sigh, he pulled out his handkerchief and reached out to dry her face; she jerked away at first and he glowered at her. "Trust me, I know all about being infatuated with someone who is in love with another. I've been through it myself. It's terrible and it hurts and it feels like the pain in your heart will never go away, but one day you realize it was just that, infatuation. You realize that real love is selfless and that you would have just wanted them to be happy if you really loved them, and pick yourself up and you dust yourself off and you keep going. You realize that he or she wasn't the person for you, and you accept that maybe your person is still out there somewhere, waiting for you to find them." She quieted as he spoke, as though latching on to every word, and no longer flinched as he reached out and wiped away the silently flowing tears from her cheeks.

"Does it get easier?" she mumbled quietly, looking up at him with sad, large eyes.

"With time," he replied. "… and effort… and usually luck," he tacked on. No sense in sugar-coating it. She took the handkerchief from his hand with shaking fingers and mopped at her own eyes, trying to stop her tears. "If you'd like, I can make up a thousand reasons why he's not right for you."

She smiled weakly at him. "But I've… I've liked Fakir for so–"

"Fakir?" he asked cutting her off with a wry smile. "Oh, he is certainly not the one for you. He's far too grumpy and sullen. His head is full of another, has been for as long as I've known him.," He tried to keep his tone light and flippant, hoping to make her laugh at his assessment and forget that she was bawling moments ago. "Anyway, he's an idiot, and you should forget all about him." He took her free hand in his and squeezed it when she looked about to argue with him. "The most beautiful, graceful woman in the world could be standing before him and he wouldn't give her even a passing glance."

"That bad?" she asked, trying to picture Fakir that in love with anyone, he usually seemed so stoic and serious and quiet.

He nodded, rolling his eyes comically for her benefit. He was secretly delighted when the action worked and she giggled in response. He leaned over conspiratorially and whispered, "and we writes terribly, too," for good measure. It wasn't often that he had a good excuse to openly mock the boy that he resented for having the gift he so coveted. Autor actually quite liked Fakir, for as much as someone like him could like other people, but it still rankled, deep down, that he was not the one to inherit Drosselmeyer's powers. _All for the good of stopping her torrential tears_, he told himself. She let out an awkward, amused hiccup in response to his insult, and he tentatively called his battle with her tears a draw.

He stood up, dusting off his pants, and reached down a hand to help her up. "So, now that you know he's no good for you, you can search out and find the man that will really make you smile, …" he trailed off, suddenly realizing that he had no idea who this girl was.

"I'm Pique," she said with a giggle as she grabbed his hand. She went to hand him back his handkerchief, then realized that it was completely soaked. She looked at the beautifully scripted 'A' and felt absolutely terrible for the state of the cloth. "I'm so… so sorry, …" she then trailed off, realizing she also didn't know his name either!

"Autor," he supplied, pushing his glasses back into position on his nose. "Don't worry about that, you can just keep it," He admitted without thinking.

"Oh no, Autor!" Pique said, her eyes lighting up as her distraction pushed Fakir further from her mind. "I'll clean it and give it back to you, good as new, I promise!"

"You really don't have to –"

She cut him off by leaning up and kissing his cheek. "I will! Thank you so much, for everything!" she called out brightly before darting off and leaving him dumbfounded, staring in her wake at the exit from the old building. His hand slowly reached up to his cheek and his fingers lingered on the skin there long after he could no longer hear her steps as she ran off.


	17. Repairs

_Princess Tutu_ © Itou Ikuko and Hal Film Maker, I'm just borrowing the characters for the enjoyment of myself and others.

Double purpose of some Pique growth and some hinting at Ahiru wrestling with new feelings! I started the conversation without a plan in mind and let it flow, sorry if it feels…. Too awkward for them? I was striving to remember my mindset when I was in the 13-16 range when I was thinking about how Pique and aged!Ahiru would talk about boys.

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><p>Repairs<p>

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><p>Ahiru worried her fingers together, twisting the fabric of her skirt between them fretfully as she approached Pique. Her friend looked diminished as she walked, the usual bounce in her steps missing and Lilie nowhere in sight. Remembering Fakir's uncomfortable words from the night before as he told her that Pique had looked upset when he'd last seen her, she waved back at him and ran on ahead to catch up to her friend. She knew there was more to what Fakir was saying than what he'd revealed to her, but he'd clearly been unwilling to talk about the subject beyond letting her know that Pique might need a friend. Fakir cut down a side alleyway with a nod, giving Ahiru time alone with her friend.<p>

"Pique!" she called out as she approached, trying to plaster the biggest, brightest smile she could on her face. If she could manage, she would try to be happy enough for the both of them so Pique would be able to borrow some. She caught up and fell into step beside her friend, leaning forward to watch her face and noticing that Fakir was right; Pique looked completely down in the dumps! "Pique, did you and Lilie have a fight? I thought you both usually walked to school together in the mornings?"

Pique blinked a few times, as through confused by Ahiru's sudden arrival and efforts at conversation. Shaking her head, she replied. "I wasn't feeling very well, so Lilie left without me. There's been some guy that she keeps spying on, but she won't tell me who it is, so I think she was glad to ditch me since I wasn't ready as early as she wanted." She smiled wanly at Ahiru, the attempt clearly lacking any real joy.

Ahiru made a face, distressed that Lilie had been so quick to abandon Pique when she was upset. "What's bothering you?"

Pique shook her head again. "It's nothing."

Okay, make that upset and unwilling to talk about it. Maybe that's why Lilie left; she always was one for quick results to her speeches.

Ahiru pouted more dramatically, stepping in front of Pique and placing her hands on her hips. "It is SO! You never look this sad, Pique!" Ahiru cried.

Her smile in return looked more natural, but still didn't quite reach her eyes. "I promise, it's nothing important. I just… I just did something silly yesterday that I wish I could take back." She patted Ahiru on the shoulder and stepped around her, continuing her slow strides towards the Academy.

"Piiiiiiiiiiique-" Ahiru drawled, jogging to catch back up after being left behind. "I don't want to see you so sad. Is there anything I can do to make it better?" Ahiru frowned. She really didn't like seeing the people she cared about so troubled. "Did someone pick on you? I'll help you stand up to them!" she offered, flexing one thin arm and grinning brightly.

Pique's responding laugh was restrained, but genuine, and it lightened Ahiru's spirits. She shook her head again, something Ahiru noted she was doing a lot today, and sighed. "I… I told Fakir that I lo… that I liked him a lot." Turning her face away from Ahiru and rubbing at her eyes, she sniffled quietly. Ahiru felt her heart clench and her gut twist and she wasn't entirely sure why. She knew Pique liked Fakir, a lot of the girls did, and she liked to talk about him all the time.

Seeing how sad she was now was upsetting to Ahiru, but there was more to it… somehow hearing that Pique talked to Fakir about liking him, and realizing that was why he'd not wanted to talk about it with her last night, made Ahiru feel very funny in her tummy in a way she couldn't fully place. She frowned and furrowed her eyebrows and opened her mouth to say something, but stopped when Pique started talking again.

"Fakir was really nice about it, but he doesn't like me. He said there's someone he likes," Pique made another little sniffle, and Ahiru finally realized she was crying. She couldn't ever remember seeing Pique cry before, but Ahiru though she was being the most dignified crier she had ever seen; Pique was catching her tears with the palm and back of her hand right away, and wasn't sobbing or doing any of the things Ahiru knew she did whenever she cried.

"I'm sorry," Ahiru whispered, not sure what else she could say to cheer Pique up. She didn't know that Fakir liked anyone, but he wasn't the kind of person that would have lied to Pique, not about something so important. Pushing the thought away to focus on the more important details about Pique at the moment, she reached out and hugged the other girl as tightly as she could. "I'm sorry," she repeated.

Pique was clearly surprised, stiffening before letting her arms wrap about the redhead. Realizing that she was probably upsetting Ahiru, she chuckled lightly and patted the barely taller girl on the back. "It's okay," she started, "I'm okay." Pulling back and gripping Ahiru's shoulders in both hands, she smiled at her the best she could. "I know it was just a silly crush, but I've held onto it for so long, so it's a little hard to let go of it." Reaching up rustling Ahiru's bangs, she went on, "I'm going to be just fine, don't worry about me."

Seeing Pique's cheerier expression, Ahiru grinned and tried to straighten her bangs. "I'm glad."

Crossing her hands behind her and letting her book bag trail behind like a tail, Pique began walking once more. "You know, I met the strangest boy yesterday." Turning to face the stationary Ahiru, she grinned and beckoned her to come along before spinning back around. "I ran into him at the library after… after classes yesterday."

Ahiru's eyes went wide as saucers as she took in the information, already suspecting where Pique was going with this. Every time she ever went to the library with Fakir there was only ever one other person there-!

"He was very odd, and a little bit… bristly? I got the feeling that he's not very good at talking to people, kind of like how I think Fakir looked when I talked to him yesterday; he seems pretty grumpy, but… nicer than he wants people to think he is."

Ahiru tried to fight the giggles threatening to burst forth from the description. If she was in the library, and he acted like that, there was only one person it could be!

Continuing in her singsong voice, Pique added playfully, "he even held me yesterday!" Bringing up a hand, she covered the huge grin threatening to break out. "In the library, of all places!"

Ahiru was dying, suspecting she knew quite well who Pique was talking about, but wanting her friend to get the chance to tell her all about her surprise meeting at her own pace.

"His name is Autor," she finally admitted, and it was all Ahiru could do to keep from squealing. "He knows Fakir somehow, and helped cheer me up a lot yesterday when I was feeling down." Pique peered over her shoulder at Ahiru, the faintest of color dusting her cheeks, "I have his handkerchief," she admitted shyly.

Ahiru could feel her jaw drop open at that, giggling gleefully at the notion. It was so romantic! Like something out of a storybook!

"Obviously, I have to return it to him," as added quickly, waving a hand at Ahiru to try and silence her, but clearly enjoying the playful atmosphere between the two of them as their conversation had drifted to the bespectacled young man she'd met, "I made a mess of it and promised to clean it. But… can you believe it‽ I have a boy's **possession.** Oh, the thought makes me so nervous!"

"That's so exciting!" Ahiru cried out, her book bag getting in the way as she tried to clap her hands. "You'll be just like a fairytale princess when you give it back to him," Ahiru mooned romantically, remembering all the stories Fakir had read to her when she was a duck. "It will be just like giving him a favor before a big tournament!"

Pique blushed and shoved her friend, laughing. "You big sap! It's not a bit like that!" She flailed excitedly and hit Ahiru's shoulder a few more times for good measure, then slowed and turned to look at Ahiru seriously. "…Really? A Princess? You think so?"

Scratching the back of her head nervously, Ahiru grinned. "Maybe not for real, but you can pretend! You'll have to tell me **all** about it when you do," Ahiru said emphatically, nodding at Pique.

Pique laughed. "I promise! I'll tell you all about it, as long as it's not completely and utterly boring. I'd be too embarrassed if he just takes it from me and tells me to leave." Letting her book bag handle fall into her elbow, she covered her face with both hands and laughed again, shaking her head furiously. "I would just die if that happened!"

Pleased to see her friend feeling better and suitably distracted from her negative thoughts, Ahiru lopped her arm through Pique's, but was surprised when the other girl started dragging her along faster as the bell tower started to chime, the pair picking up into a clumsy run.

"Come on!" Pique cried, "Or we'll be late to class! I hope Frau Katze will let us off easy if we don't make it in time!" Cackling and shaking her bag at the sky with her other hand, she added, "It'll all be Autor's fault if we don't make it! Ooooh, I'll give him a piece of my mind when I see him!" Ahiru didn't really think that statement made much sense, but Pique was in too good of a mood now for her to want to argue the point, so she just giggled in response.

Laughter filled the air as the pair stumbled their way into their classroom at the last moment, earning them stares from teacher and classmates alike as they slid into seats in the front row and tried to calm themselves.


	18. Delivery

_Princess Tutu_ © Itou Ikuko and Hal Film Maker, I'm just borrowing the characters for the enjoyment of myself and others.

Sorry updates have slowed down, a combination of life and running out of pre-written ideas from the first bits of brainstorming on this project.

If I had to guess, I'd say I've got roughly 10-15 more scene ideas left in me for this little project, in various stages of vagueness in my head. Of those, only 2 are currently beyond a single paragraph description, though one IS a particular scene that a lot of people have been asking for (which was actually one of the first bits I wrote. It's killing me to sit on it, but we're just not there yet!).

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><p>Delivery<p>

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><p>Fakir eyed the small object in his hands, turning it over time and again and watching as the moonlight from his window glinted over it in small sparkles.<p>

It seemed like forever ago when he found it, carefully tucked in a pocket as he slowly regained his consciousness next to the blazing fire that had been Edel. He'd had vague recollections of hands and movement, but it was all a blur from the moment he fell back into the icy waters of the lake until he opened his eyes to see them filled with her warm glow. Somehow, when he looked down at the cool green gem in his hands, he'd known that Ahiru and the Prince would make it out from there, and he'd slipped it back into the depths of his pocket as he saw them approaching, slumping back exhaustedly.

After the fact, he'd tucked it carefully away in his desk drawer, only ever taking it out when he felt weakest, most disheartened by the tasks set before him; protecting everyone, keeping Ahiru safe, going on living… He still didn't know why the mysterious Edel had gifted him such a thing, but when he'd taken it out again after Ahiru's return to humanity, he knew what he wanted to do with it.

Charon had been more than willing to help mount it in a simple metal bracket and turn it into a broach when he'd asked; it wasn't as fancy as a jeweler might have done, but it was meticulously done, despite the simplicity.

Brushing the musings from his mind, Fakir sat up from his bed, eyes still fixated on the broach in his hands. He wanted to give it to her, but he wasn't sure how to do it without it being… weird. He'd never given anyone anything before, and he found his mind trailing back to a conversation about giving gifts to find out someone's feelings; it felt like a lifetime ago.

Part of him didn't particularly want to know how she felt, because he suspected strongly that she still carried her love as Tutu for the Prince, for she spoke often about missing him and Rue, but he **did** want her to have it. Somehow, he had just known; he was supposed to give it to her, and… he truly wanted to. He wondered how the puppet woman that claimed jealousy over their feeling hearts had been so perceptive; had she been able to see something then that he hadn't even known existed within him?

He grinned wryly as he tumbled the gem over in his hands. She probably **had** known; even if he wasn't aware, that night was probably the start, the trip that sent him sprawling down the slippery path to falling in love with the brave young girl willing to give up everything she wanted to save all of them.

He flopped back down into the bed, covering his burning face with his arm and feeling the heat from his blush against his cooler skin. He squinted his eyes further shut behind their cover and groaned at his indecisiveness. _Why is this so hard?_

It probably didn't help that she was sleeping just down the hall from him now, content and human and so damn tempting.

Digging the palm of his empty hand against his forehead in frustration, he sat up once more and forced himself to stand, taking a deep breath before dropping both hands to his side.

Good grief. Were his legs actually shaking?

This shouldn't be that hard!

They had managed to dissipate the weird tension that had formed between them right after he brought her back, so why was he so damn panicky about giving her a simple piece of jewelry?

He stepped forward with great purpose, striding to his door with steps that were far shakier than he wanted to admit to himself. He took another deep breath once he stood in the hallway, ashamed that he was having to steel himself once again so soon. He walked as quietly as he could down the still hallway, carefully stepping over the spot that he knew creaked, and stood for long moments outside her door, straining to listen for any sounds that would hint at wakefulness.

The minutes seemed to stretch into forever as he waited, his heartbeat thundering in his ears amongst the roaring from the silence. His hand was trembling when he finally opened her door, moving as swiftly as he dared.

Which, admittedly, wasn't much.

He cursed his cowardice as he approached her bed, barely moving at a snail's pace as he did so. His fingers clenched around the gem as he stared down at her sleeping face; he resisted the urge to reach out and brush away the strands of her hair that had fallen in her face, laying just so against her barely opened lips. She adjusted her position and made a soft noise, causing him to freeze as all the color in his face fled in sheer terror.

She couldn't wake up and see him here! _No no no no no no no. No!_

His eyes caught sight of her opened hand resting near her face, her fingers curled inward toward the palm, and he was acting before he knew what he was doing.

He slipped the broach into her fingers and fled the room without a trace, not daring to look back and not noticing as her hand clenched around the gift and brought it close to her chest. He closed the door with a small click and bolted, uncaring of the indiscreet thuds from his steps as he made his way back to his room in a hurry.

He all but slammed his bedroom door shut behind himself and leaned against it, covering his face with his hands as he felt that damned blush rise again with a vengeance.

What was it about that girl that brought this out in him?

He groaned into his palms as he stumbled over to his bed, battling the desire to scream into his pillow in frustration.

Sleep was a long time in coming for Fakir, but when he awoke the next morning and saw Ahiru bound down the stairs for breakfast with her yellow uniform ornament replaced with a familiar cool green gem, his heart leapt and sang and he flushed and ignored Charon's poignant looks as he hid the smile that threatened to overtake him behind his breakfast.


	19. Poems and Books

_Princess Tutu_ © Itou Ikuko and Hal Film Maker, I'm just borrowing the characters for the enjoyment of myself and others.

_Finally_ got around to reinstalling Office, woo?

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><p>Poems and Books<p>

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><p>It was an absolutely gorgeous day in Goldkrone, not that Pique paid it any bit of notice. She was on a mission, one that that been put off for long enough, in her opinion. Living in the dormitories certainly had perks, such as the large, communal, academy-staffed kitchens and the convenience of not finding lodgings for students with no family in the area like herself… but easy access to the laundry room was not high on the list! The fancy new crank-run machinery for wringing out clothing was apparently exceptionally popular the students. It had taken her over a week to finally find the room abandoned when she arrived, leaving her the solitude necessary to wash a boy's handkerchief with her school blouses without dying of embarrassment. She would still be hearing about it from Lilie if the blonde girl had ever discovered her plight.<p>

But that was all behind her now! She had the cleaned and starched cloth carefully folded in the small pocket of her skirt, so all she had to do was find Autor and return the article in question to him.

Simple enough.

…Except that she had spent an entire extra week just trying to find him. Just because he'd been in the library one day, didn't mean he'd be there again, so she'd scoured all the classrooms she could think of on campus during her free time between lessons, but to no avail.

Out of ideas, she had returned to the sight of her breakdown as a final, last ditch effort to locate the bespectacled boy.

She walked into the nearly silent building and saw him just sitting there at a table, reading away without a care in the world, she glared. Surely he hadn't been here every day when she was out looking for him…

She approached his table with her arms crossed, still a bit miffed that he'd probably been here every day **just because** she'd been looking everywhere else instead. He must have had a sixth sense for people getting near him, because she'd been as silent as a church mouse, but he managed to look up right at her just as she slowed to a stop in front of his table.

He blinked, as though not quite registering who she was at first, before pushing his glasses further up on the bridge of his nose. "Hello, Pique," he said in an even tone.

Putting her hands on the table, she braced herself against them and leaned down over the table, bringing her face close to his. "Have you been here every day?" she asked. No sense in beating around the bush.

He pulled a wry grin. "I'm always here every day," he said smoothly, unbothered by her tone but a little taken aback by her sudden closeness. "Is there something wrong with that?" he asked calmly, slipping a bookmark into his book with practiced ease and setting it aside.

She sighed with a huff and settled into the chair across from him, "No, except that I looked all over everywhere else for you first." She crossed her arms again and pouted at him.

He made that little grin again, and she wanted to wipe it off his face just a bit. "If I recall, you were the one eager to sprint away last time our paths crossed." He propped an elbow upon the table and braced his chin against it as he watched her roll her eyes at the comment. "Anyway, yes, I'm here basically every day," he added helpfully.

"Well, now I know," she drawled as her eyes drifted, settling on the sizeable stack of books on the table, tidily placed next to the one Autor had been reading. "Did you already read all of those?" she asked, looking back to him.

"Not today," he chuckled. "But yes, I've read all of these. I brought them back today and was planning to reshelve them as soon as I finished this one." He picked it up and wiggled it at her to emphasize his point. She stared at the cover for a moment before yanking the book in question out of his hand.

She raised an eyebrow at him, "_Die Nibelungenlied_?" she asked, flipping through the pages and making a note of where he seemed to be in the story. "You're really never read this before?"

His eyes narrowed at her and he yanked it out of her hand. "Are you saying you have?" he asked, eyeing her critically.

"My family lives outside of Mannheim, near Worms," she supplied with an easy tone, "my uncle had a really old copy that he would read to me when I was first learning how to write as a little girl. Tragic poetry where everyone dies might not have been the most… appropriate material, I suppose, but books were hard to come by for us. I kind of assumed it was a wide-spread book, all the same."

Autor continued his squinting examination of the girl before him, slowly lowering his reclaimed book to the table and reappraising the young lady, given his new information. "Do you still read ancient poetry often?"

She laughed at him in response, a light, bubbly sound that he tried not to focus on as being nice, and shook her head. "Not really, just normal books now. I can almost recite that one word for word, though," she winked at him playfully, and he found himself swallowing thickly, unable to deny that the action was cute. He frowned, crushing the observation into the furthest recesses of his mind.

"I don't think I've ever seen you here before," he challenged, "and I'm here every day."

Pique flushed a little and hid a smile behind her hands before leaning across the table to whisper conspiratorially, "That's probably because I always sneak over at weird times in the evenings so no one will find out I'm here!" She giggled again and crossed her arms, leaning them on the table as she spoke. "I try not to let it get out too much that I love to read, my best friend is a little heavy on … rather peculiar gossiping." The tone she used left Autor wondering despite himself what in the world that actually meant.

Autor tried to ignore the bizarreness of the fact that he was sitting there, chatting with a girl, and she was giggling at him and getting up into his personal space and he hadn't once told her to be quiet and leave him alone. The playful words that followed were out of his mouth before he knew what he was doing; no matter how badly he wanted to grab them and cram them back inside of himself as far as he could get them to hide them. "I won't tell a soul; your secret's safe with me."

"Good," she said simply, flashing him that pearly smile again and snatching up the top book off the stack he'd left on the table and leaning back into her seat. "Was this one any good?" she asked, thumbing through the first few pages as she settled further down into her chair.

Unexpectedly finding himself unable to look at her face _(God, who was he, __**Fakir?**__)_, Autor plucked the book back out of her hands and swapped it for a different one from his neat pile. "That one was a bit dry; you'll probably like this one better." He paused and contemplated making a little quip about the fact that it was a compilation of essays on literature composition techniques, but killed the notion and resumed his place in the old epic poem. He'd done more than enough of their silly bantering already; he shouldn't be encouraging her by continuing.

But he had to admit, it was a little fun. He wasn't used to messing around with his peers; ironically, Fakir was probably the closest thing he had to a friend.

As an afterthought, he added seriously, "If you hate that one, I can always try to help you find some new titles that would appeal to you more." He didn't look up from his book as he made the offer, or he would have seen the dazzling smile she flashed him before making herself comfortable.

She turned the seat, slouching down in show of bad posture that would have horrified Frau Katze, and perched her feet upon the chair next to her as she opened the book and was soon enthralled by a fantasy tale about a young wizard that befriended a demon whose powers had been sealed.

When Autor finished _Die Nibelungenlied_ and rose to return it, he almost chastised her for putting her feet upon the furniture, but stilled himself when he saw how engrossed she was in the novel. Shaking his head at himself, he scooped up his stack of books and set to work on replacing them, trusted enough by the staff to do so after checking each one back in at the main desk. As he shelved the books, he noted other favourite titles of his that he hoped would appeal to Pique, and returned with a single large tome for himself and a modest stack that he had checked out for her.

She nodded at him distractedly as he resumed his position across the table from her. He drank in the silence and that same inexplicable niceness to her presence that he'd noticed before; a hint of a smile ghosting across his face as he stole a glance at the reading girl sharing his table before fully focusing on the book in front of him.

Their parting, hours later, was amiable. He stealthily walked her back to the girls' dormitory, managing to avoid any prying eyes attached to flapping lips. Her arms were laden with various titles he had picked out for her, so he held open the door for her in a moment of chivalry that surprised them both. She sent him one last smile and was off, darting up the stairs to her top-floor room as swiftly as possible to avoid detection. She'd think up some excuse for Lilie tomorrow, if the girl asked about her absence from their home all afternoon and evening.

It wasn't until the next morning, when she saw the innocuous slip of cloth slide out of her skirt pocket when she lifted it from the floor to place it in her clothing hamper that she realized her error: she had completely forgotten to return the handkerchief!


	20. Suspicions

_Princess Tutu_ © Itou Ikuko and Hal Film Maker, I'm just borrowing the characters for the enjoyment of myself and others.

Bet you thought I died or something, didn't you? These next two are all that I have more than a handful of sentences written up for currently, and I just genuinely haven't felt like writing much lately, sadly. I'll finish the story someday, because I DO have the remainder outlined at least, but I can't make any promises about when that will be. That being said, I believe chapter 21 will assuage any rage over this unfortunate reveal, since it's pretty much THE scene that everyone has been chomping at the bit for since I first started this. You can all thank Amanga, her review was the one that tipped me over and made me sit down and open word and finish/proof these last two so everyone could finally read 21.

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><p>Suspicions<p>

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><p>Fakir could feel eyes on him and studiously tried to ignore her, focusing instead on the unfinished essay before him. He was less successful than he'd hoped, but more than he'd expected, given that she'd been watching him off and on for the better part of an hour now rather than working on her own assignment. He knew that if he looked up, those huge blue eyes of hers would have been staring him down, and he wasn't sure he could handle that.<p>

He'd been avoiding her without ACTUALLY avoiding her for days. Ever since he'd snuck her that gem in the middle of the night and she started wearing it

Every.

Single.

Day.

She had replaced her uniform broach with it and wore it and smiled at him all the time and he knew that she knew where it came from and she made it painfully obvious that she liked it and something about that thought paralyzed him. Just thinking about it made him hold in a groan at all the implications.

It was one thing to have realized how he felt about her and a whole different mess to show her even a hint of it. He still had trouble opening up about his feelings with Charon and he'd lived with his father since he was a small child. The entire notion of potentially discussing anything about his emotions with her terrified him more than he'd feared death at the hands of the Raven; Ahiru had the power to kill him with just a sad look and a hypothetical apology for not returning his feelings, even if she didn't know it.

And yet, despite all of that… he knew that if it were in his power, he would tear down the heavens for her and do whatever it took to make her happy, even if that were to somehow find a way to reunite her with the Prince.

The realization calmed him; he was still wary of where her own affections might lie, but he knew that as long as he could make her happy, he would be content.

He would continue to hope that she might see him like she saw her, but for now it would be enough to see a smile like the one she likely still had focused on him.

Fakir allowed himself to glance up at her, and his suspicion was confirmed; she WAS still watching him. Her fingers lingered over the bauble at her neck and she had that radiant smile that melted his insides. Her eyes lit up at him and her smile somehow managed to become even brighter and before he knew it, he had smiled at her too, if only just a small one.

It was what happened next that he wasn't expecting.

It was almost like his smile flipped a switch; a flush stained her cheeks and her eyes darted away, her unfinished essay having apparently become quite the interesting focal point.

An eyebrow rose, unbidden, and Fakir sank back a bit in his seat, wordlessly taking in the girl across the table. It was too soon to say, and he certainly didn't want to get his hopes up unduly, but his intimate acquaintance and spectacularly long-term relationship with reactions like that led him to suspect, if nothing else.

And of all the things to have suspicions about… that was perhaps the best he could have ever hoped to witness.

Sitting up straighter with newfound confidence, Fakir dipped his quill back into his inkwell and set back to work on his assignment with renewed vigor, his analysis of the plot and characterizations presented in _Dornröschen_ through the use of ballet movements in _Spyashchaya krasavitsa _having become much easier over the last few minutes now that he was less preoccupied with avoiding Ahiru's careful scrutiny.

He wouldn't get ahead of himself; if he brought up the subject and he was wrong, Ahiru would undoubtedly feel guilty, and that was the last thing he wanted. It was possible, even likely, that she was conflicted between various feelings, but that glimpse he'd caught had proven that there was at least _something_.

What that something was, he was not fully certain; however, he would wait, watch, and see.


	21. Pas de Deux

_Princess Tutu_ © Itou Ikuko and Hal Film Maker, I'm just borrowing the characters for the enjoyment of myself and others.

This scene was planned from the beginning and has been nearly complete since then; as I mentioned previously, I wrote it very early on and it's been killing me to sit on it this long.

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><p>Pas de Deux<p>

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><p>Frau Katze took one last look at the letter from her brother she had received that afternoon and rolled her eyes before folding it closed and slipping it into her bag with a grimace. Honestly, her family had no business caring so much about whether or not she had 'found a husband' yet. Knowing that there was no sense in letting their idiocy bother her, she gathered the rest of her belongings and prepared to leave. Closing the office door behind her, she made her way down the hallway, idly listening to the sound of her footfalls, barely a whisper against the floor.<p>

As she neared the balcony entrance to the main studio, she paused, noticing that light was filtering through the bottom of the doorway. Standing right in front of the door, she could hear music, clearly the prerecorded notes of their phonograph, drifting up and out of the room. It wasn't unusual for students to stay after classes finished for the day, practicing for an hour or two, but it was already well into the evening. Who in the world could be in there at this hour?

Placing her effects upon the floor for the moment, she opened the door as gently as possible, slipping in unnoticed. A flash of movement below caught her eyes and she turned, caught completely off guard by what she found.

It was the most unlikely of pairings, she thought, watching with interest as her newest student, the chipper Ahiru, was being drilled at ballet exercises by her peers' heartthrob, the dark and mysterious Fakir. She raised an eyebrow, curious how the two knew each other. She would not have imagined the solemn Fakir to know, much less willingly assist, her little ugly duckling. He tended to keep to himself, from what she had seen and overheard, and Ahiru was… well… as opposite as you could get! She was improving, but still awkward, and had a tendency to chatter. She tried to make friends with everyone and was the most open and friendly young woman Katze had ever had the pleasure of meeting.

It was clear upon their first meeting that Ahiru had taken some time off from her ballet studies, likely related to her absence and return to the academy. She had gathered from her conversations with her friends (when they were supposed to be focusing on their en pointe practice!) that she had returned from some sort of extended time away. Rustiness of her movements aside, she had been steadily improving over the last few weeks, and Katze found herself wondering if this could be the reason why.

How often did these two work together after classes each day? Was this their first time, or a daily ritual?

Repeated lessons together would certainly explain why Ahiru was managing to catch back up to her peers in such a short time.

Finding herself instantly curious, she took a seat upon the floor, gazing between the bars of the guardrail as she watched her exceptionally dissimilar students work together.

Fakir directed Ahiru through a series of relevés in the various positions, her hand gripping the barre tightly as she moved. Under his watchful gaze, she rose and lowered time and again, a point here, a touch there as he directed her movements. She wobbled dangerously once and he swatted at her bottom with the back of his hand, earning him a fierce glare and an exclamation of "Hey!" from the girl but still achieving the desired result. Her back straightened immediately as she tucked her hips back under her torso once more. Amazingly, her swaying ceased.

Rising up from first position, Ahiru locked her ankles and brought her arm up above her head. Once she looked comfortable in the position, she slowly did pliés en pointe, first bringing her arm down out to her side with the bend of her knees and down to her navel with the extension. Then her arm went back up in front of her and above her with the second. The pattern repeated a few times before she shifted her feet into second position and started all over again. Slowly but surely, she made her way through all five positions while being on her toes.

It was strange, observing her student in this environment, Katze mused as she watched Ahiru turn around to do the exercises all over again with her other arm braced against the barre. She was no less determined in class, to be sure, but she seemed so at ease with her dour tutor, so comfortable. Certainly more than she would have expected.

She was also a little surprised that a male student seemed so adept at teaching the skills for working en pointe, but she realized that he'd probably been overhearing the lessons and drills for quite some time, and many of the practices were the same as working in demi-pointe. She had yet to see anything worth worrying over; she was keeping her eyes peeled in case he pushed Ahiru too hard or taught her bad form. Undoing poor teaching would take longer than instilling good teachings from the start. However, he seemed more than adequate to assist her practice in this manner.

Fakir was certainly a curious one. He refused interaction with others as much as possible, yet seemed entirely unbothered to be here helping a less-advanced student after class hours were long done for the day.

They moved on to passé work, presumably to help her balance and strength for turning. Her pirouettes certainly still needed some work. Once she had found her balance, Ahiru slowly lifted the hand gripping the barre away, bringing it up above her head while she kept her lifted leg turned out, her toes carefully placed against the back of her knee. She was able to hold the position for a few long moments before gradually coming back down. A second endeavor looked smooth at the start, but she suddenly lost her balance and began to tumble forward, her arms flying out in an attempt to catch herself when she landed. Katze flinched, anticipating the girl's ungraceful spill to the floor, but the crisis was averted. Fakir quickly caught her mid-fall, bringing her close up against his chest until she found her balance again, a move that had Katze's eyebrows rising in surprise. A few low words later that Katze couldn't hear beyond a murmur of noise and Ahiru was up again, nodding at him and doing two more repetitions and then working her other side, Fakir's hand hovering just behind her back without touching the whole time as a show of security while still allowing Ahiru to do all the work herself.

The music from the phonograph stopped and they broke apart, he said a few more words Katze couldn't pick up and Ahiru nodded brightly, taking a seat upon the floor and starting the lengthy process of unlacing her shoes and methodically wrapping the ribbons around them once they had been removed. Strong, sure steps brought Fakir over to the machine where he removed the roll and replaced it with a fresh one.

Katze smiled at the determination on her student's face as she took care of her shoes. Young Ahiru had a lot of heart in her dancing, to be sure, but she was always struggling with her form in class, and her ankles still tired easily when she worked too long en pointe. So long as she didn't over-strain herself, working twice a day like this would be sure to build up her endurance. She was showing far more devotion to dancing than the young teacher would have expected, judging from her student's lighthearted attitude in class.

The music started once more and Fakir stood in the center of the room, looking patiently at the copper-haired girl on the floor. He held out a hand to her and without realizing it, Katze was leaning against the bars in rapt attention, her curiosity perking up at the scene. Ahiru sent him a dazzling smile as she wiggled her toes free of the shoes, rolling her ankles a few times to stretch them out. Her pointe shoes were discarded and her bare feet made small noises with each step as she stood and walked over him. Her partner didn't seem to mind as he took her hands in his and led her in a small circle.

She had certainly shown improvement during her prior lesson, but the ease with which she was moving now was nothing short of miraculous. They moved in a perfect harmony with one another, in sync in a way Katze had seen few pairs ever achieve. Ahiru was raised effortlessly into the air by the skilled Fakir, her expression free and happy as her arms lifted and her legs extended into an arabesque. On the ground once more, she turned a few pirouettes with his hand holding hers above her head, the usual wobble in her leg nowhere to be seen, then leaned back into him, his arms coming around her while still holding her hands. He leaned her back along his arm, supporting her as her back arched elegantly and her fingertips brushed the ground before helping her to stand and supporting her through a lifted spin.

The choreography wasn't something Katze could recognize, and she realized they were likely dancing unscripted movements, just following the music. It was beautiful. Gawky, clumsy Ahiru was stunning and graceful and elegant in a way she had never seen.

Katze let her eyes drift from her surprisingly agile novice student to her stony partner, and she found her hand rising to cover her mouth as she gasped. The mechanical puppet was gone, and in his place danced the boy she had watched do a sorrowful solo pas de deux all those weeks ago. With every lift, every hold, every touch of his hands along her skin, he was radiating emotion and feeling.

And yet, he was different. He was… more.

His eyes were unable to leave the young woman, as though the entire world consisted of nothing but her and this dance together. There was no agony in his movements, no pain rolling off him in waves. In its place was a calm but powerful love, all shining for the girl in his arms. **This** was the missing piece she'd been unable to grasp at, the reason for his anguish. She knew without a shadow of a doubt, that lonely pas de deux had been for this girl; his grief and pain had been for her absence.

Abruptly, she realized how Ahiru had transformed and improved so much; she was unable to believe she'd missed it before when they first began dancing. Love and devotion was plainly written upon both their faces, and it brought forth strength and grace that the girl usually kept buried deep inside of her. It was like their being together changed them; it calmed her excitement, softened and smoothed her movements and made him come alive, breathing passion into his actions.

She felt like an unwelcome spectator, bearing witness to what was clearly a private expression of love for the two young students. As quietly as possible, she rose from her position on the floor and departed, closing the door behind her with the tiniest of clicks as the latch fell into place.

Scooping up her belongings from the floor, she resumed her long-interrupted departure from the building, descending down the stairs and casting a small smile at the cracked open doors to the practice studio as she glided past, the music following her down the hall as she approached the exit.

It seemed that her mystery had at last been solved.


End file.
